Rain on the Scarecrow
by Iron Angel 80
Summary: A prequel to my story, Boulevard of Broken Dreams, this is the story of how Marcus and Jenna's lives were ripped apart, how they survived, and how they struggled to live in a world that wanted them dead.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: First of all, a big apology to everyone on the way too long hiatus I took. I never meant to be away this long but in my own defense, The Man changed his shifts so it ate into my free time, and I took on a second job over the summer and all free time went to zero.

This ficlet is a prequel of sorts to my Apocalypse Horizon series, in that it's the back story for my OC's, Jenna and Marcus. It will be about ten chapters or so, so I hope you enjoy it – Ironangel80

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><p>Disclaimer: Big thanks to Kripke for sharing his world with us.<p>

Chapter 1

She had been seventeen. Her family had a small farm on the Louisiana side of the Texas border. They weren't rich by any standard, and they worked the land hard like all the other families in the area, but it was their home. The closest neighbors were the Wells family, and she had been harboring a crush in their eldest son, Marcus, since she was twelve. Her father wouldn't have approved of her choice of a beau. Interracial couples were becoming more frequent in that part of the State, but they were far from acceptable by her father's expectations – even if it was one from close family friends like the Wells'.

Of course Marcus had no idea she was so taken by him. Nearly three years older, he was due back that day from boot camp. He had signed up with the marines several months earlier, and he was getting a few weeks of leave at home before he was going to be posted in Alabama. She had made sure that she went up to visit with Estelle, his mother, everyday since she took in her sister's baby. It wasn't as if Estelle couldn't use the company, or the help. Estelle's youngest sister – barely much older than Marcus – had a baby the year before and decided she couldn't keep it. The alcohol and drug addictions might have had something to do with it too. Estelle took the infant in so that he didn't become a ward of the State and got lost in the system, but the strain on the household of another child was showing on her. Jenna often watched little DeRelle for an hour or so after school so that Estelle could have some time to do other chores around the house, and to start dinner for the family, or to just catch her breath. There didn't seem to be much to go around, and she figured that was why Marcus' father and agreed so fast to sell his land to the oil company that was snatching up property in the area like a greedy kid around a broken piñata. Her dad had flat out told them 'no' and then to get off his property when they started getting pushy. The Wells family would be packed up and gone by the end of the summer and she felt sad and empty about that.

But today was a day to be happy. Marcus was coming home and she couldn't wait to see him. Her jaw nearly dropped to her knees when she let herself in like she normally did, calling out to Estelle, "Mom! I'm home!" only to see Marcus duck his head into the kitchen and grin at her.

He looked even better that he did in her memory, and that was saying a lot. Marine training had been good to him as he was bigger all over and thicker with lean muscle. And the short haircut he was sporting nearly had her drooling on the spot.

He swooped her up into a hug, lifting her five foot one frame clear off the ground and exclaiming, "Hey Jenna-girl! Miss me?"

_Duh!_

"Of course I did! Your brothers have been driving me nuts without you here to keep them in line," she squealed as she hugged him back, relishing in the feel of the smooth hard muscles of his shoulders under her palms.

_Down girl_, she chastised herself.

He placed her back on the ground and stood back to look at her. "Hey, mama told me about how you've been helping out with Dee more since I've been gone… Did I ever tell you, you're the best little white girl I know?"

"Not really something I think I've ever heard come out of your mouth," she grinned. _Damn_ it was good to see him.

"Denna!" DeRelle shrieked happily, toddling shakily into the kitchen with his pudgy arms up. She swooped him up onto her hip and planted a kiss on his fat little cheek.

"Hey, little man. You ready for our date?"

"Denna swing!" he demanded, pointing at the wall. It wasn't the right wall – the swing set was on the other side of the house – but she knew what he wanted. He liked to have her swing him on her lap and sing him nursery rhymes.

"You got it, Boss."

"Hey! Ask her nicely, little man," Marcus mock admonished the child, leaning down and kissing the top of his curly little head. His face was so close to hers that she had to forcibly restrain herself from leaning into him and putting a hand on his chest.

_Newly well-defined chest_, she thought to herself before shaking herself out of it. He was going to think she was an idiot if she didn't smarten up. Nothing more than a stupid little girl with a crush.

_God he smells good_.

"So how long are you back for?" she asked to keep him talking.

He smiled at her, his white teeth gleaming against the dark skin. "Only for four weeks before I get posted. Just long enough to help out around here and get things ready for the sell and the big move."

"That sucks your family is moving away. And all the way up in Shreveport." DeRelle busied himself during the adult conversation by pulling on her brown hair. "DeRelle, that hurts," she grimaced as she pried a thick lock out of the pudgy hands.

"Yeah, dad's brother is up there, and he's getting the old man a job at the bus depot doing maintenance." Marcus shrugged. "It's a steady paycheck – not like the farm."

"I might have inadvertently heard that you've been sending money home?" she asked shyly. DeRelle moved on to pulling the cheap necklace around her throat.

Marcus looked a little embarrassed at the question and glanced away. "Yeah, well, they need it right now more than I do."

She was so endeared by the look on his face and the modesty that he'd always shown that she dared to reach out with her free hand and placed it on his arm.

"It's good to have you back, Marcus, even for a little while." And she fled the kitchen with the baby after that before she could embarrass herself by doing something stupid and girly; like blurting out her love for him.

She spent more time than ever over at the Wells' place over the next two weeks. While she didn't want to come off as young and eager, there were only two more weeks until Marcus was gone again and she seriously had to grow a backbone and do something, or else she'd likely never see him again. And she'd kick herself for the rest of her life for being such a chicken shit.

He was out in the barn, working on the ancient tractor's engine. They were going to auction it off along with some other equipment and they wanted them in good working order to get the best price. She was taking him out a plate of chicken and greens that his mom had sent out for him. Like the good neighbor she was, Jenna offered to run it out to the barn for her.

"Marcus?" she called as she entered the dimly lit barn. The double door was closed and the only light was sunlight filtering in through the multiple open windows. The tractor was parked in front of one of these windows so that the golden shafts fell on the engine and Marcus's bent over body. She allowed herself the indulgence of admiring the view – he wasn't wearing a shirt and his skin looked like it had been carved and polished from some sort of exotic wood.

"Just one sec, Jenna-girl," he spoke to the engine, voice muffled by his bent over position. She waited patiently and admired the view some more until he stood up and arched his back to work the kinks out of it.

_Holy Mother of God…_

"I brought you some lunch," she came forward, holding out the plate and fork. He pulled a dirty rag from a pocket and wiped them off on it before taking the plate from her.

"Thanks," he sighed, sagging against the front tractor wheel and digging into the food with abandon. "Mmm, that's good. I can't tell you how much better mama's cooking is compared to Uncle Sam's."

"I still can't believe your family is moving," she sighed. She could hear muffled voices from outside – Mr. Wells and Marcus's younger brothers. The voices got smaller as they moved away from the barn walls.

"Well… it's sell the farm for a less than fair price, and come out with something in their pockets, or hold onto it and have the bank foreclose on it next year and they get nothing." That was the problem facing a lot of the families in the area. It was the reason so many were giving up their deeds to the oil company in the first place. Sure there was a bit of oil here, but not enough to warrant so much attention from this particular company. It was hardly worth the effort to put in the drilling rigs.

"I hear your dad is holding out for a better price?" he asked, raising a dark eyebrow at her as he chewed thoughtfully.

"He's holding out period. He doesn't want to sell at all – he's too attached to the land and doesn't want to see it gutted and drilled."

"I hear that," Marcus mumbled. "It ain't right." He shoveled the rest of the food into his mouth and leaned against the tractor's engine panel from his seat on the wheel. Rolling his head on his neck against the metal, he groaned, "I swear this thing hates me."

"You're good with stuff like this," she said, stepping nearer. "You'll get it working right."

"I hope so."

"Here, let me take that plate back in for you." She leaned down and reached out to take the pro-offered plate. Marcus yanked it back last second, causing her to stumble a step, and grinned at her. "Haha, you jerk," she rolled her eyes, trying to keep her head with that megawatt smile beaming at her. She reached again, and when he pulled it back again, she leaned in and kissed him on the lips without even realizing she'd done it. She'd thought about it a million times, but thinking and doing were two entirely different things, and right now her lips were on the ones she'd dreamt of for years.

He pulled back, a rather amused smile on his handsome face and she just wanted to melt into the floor and _die_. She didn't believe she just did that – and she could tell he was trying so hard not to laugh at her.

_I'm an idiot_, she cursed herself, feeling her face turn crimson as she hastily jumped back.

He stood up slowly to his full six-three frame and she tried to swallow the giant lump of stupidity that lodged itself in her throat as he towered over her.

"So it's like that, is it, Jenna-girl?" And that smile was still on his face and she seriously wanted to give into the girly self-preservation trait of running away.

"I-I… I'm sorry, I…" she stammered, backing up and clutching the plate to her stomach like it was a shield that would protect her from the teasing she was doomed to get from the guy.

"How long you been wantin' to do that?" he asked her, the corners of his mouth fighting to keep from turning up.

She loved him for the attempt he was making to not laugh outright at her, but at the same time she just wanted to kick him in the shins and run like hell. And she couldn't think straight enough to lie to him either.

"Jenna?" he prodded, taking another step towards her as she took another one back.

"Awhile," she breathed, retreating again. If she could only get through the door, she could get away from him and hide in her house until he left for Alabama and she'd never have to feel this embarrassed again.

_I am so stupid! How could I have just done that!_?

She made to step back again, but he was fast and he caught her arm. The plate dropped, but it was only plastic and it just rolled across the floor before teetering onto its face and spinning to a stop face down in the scattered hay and dirt. "Awhile, huh?" he murmured, sliding in close to her so that she could feel the heat of his body radiating out to hers and it made her knees weak. It was a good thing he was holding her arm, and that he was pulling her against his chest.

_His bare chest_… her mind noted the fact even though the rest of her was frozen with fear and apprehension and… _hope_? He was pulling her close and guiding her palms against his chest and up to his neck and his hands drifted to rest possessively on the slight curve of her hips.

"Jenna-girl," he paused, running the back of one hand along her jaw, and at the moment, she didn't care if he covered her in grease or not. "…Have you ever kissed a boy before?"

"Only once," she whispered around the heart that had lodged itself in her throat so that she couldn't breathe. Being flat-chested and a bit of a tomboy didn't lead to too many pursuers. "And he kissed me and I didn't like it much." Most boys didn't pay attention to her and the one that had kissed her did it on a dare from his friends. She'd been pissed when she found out and let the air out of one of his tires between classes. It bent the rim to shit and he knew she was the one that did it and told everyone her breath smelled like ass in retaliation. She hated high school and couldn't wait for the ordeal to be over. She only had one year left and she'd be free…

"Well, you're a brave lil' thing for giving it another shot." He ghosted his lips along her jaw and she tilted her head to give him better access. Her heart was fluttering and she was glad that Marcus was holding her up like he was, otherwise she'd be a crumpled heap on the floor. She never actually thought that all those stupid Harlequin romances her mom had stashed all over the house would actually be right about something – what with all the lame swooning always going on. But her heart was pounding and she was light-headed and her chest – or lack there-of – was heaving as he toyed with her.

She was on fire.

"Marcus, I…" she breathed, only to have her words cut off by his lips pressing gently to hers. There was an explosion of light behind her eyes as she leaned into him, her palms flat against his chest and snaking up to loop around his neck. He must have liked that because he suddenly seemed very hungry, pressing against her mouth harder and grabbing her around the backs of her thighs. He lifted her easily, and settled her on a couple square hay bales stacked against a stall partition – the livestock had already been sold off and there wasn't a sound in the barn other than the squeaking of the window shutters, and some birds flying around in the eaves.

He nudged her knees apart and pressed against her, his rough, needy hands gripping her as she arched against him. She couldn't breath and she couldn't think, and she didn't care either way. She was locked around the man she'd daydreamed about for years, and she was in heaven with the feelings he was stirring up inside her.

Voices growing outside the barn wall made them spring apart and he turned his back on her. She was shaking all over, and she stumbled when she slid off the hay bale.

"Marcus?" she whispered hesitantly, certain that he'd come to his senses and realized he'd made a mistake in kissing the silly little girl from next door. She felt embarrassment eat at her, turning her face crimson; and if she wasn't so in shock at the kiss he just gave her, she probably would have been fighting back tears. She walked over to where the plastic plate had come to rest. She picked it up, ready to leave the barn with as much dignity she could muster, when Marcus was beside her again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you like that," he whispered near her ear.

_And here's the apology…_

"But I wanted you to." She startled herself with her honesty. Just like the kiss she gave him a moment ago, it slipped out beyond her control.

"But you're young, and Jenna-girl… I ain't new to this, if you know what I mean." He had a hand on the small of her back in a reassuring manner. She knew what he was talking about. He'd been around and she was woefully inexperienced. In other words, she was shit outta luck.

"What if I told you that I didn't care?" she turned to face him, drinking in the sight of his handsome dark face.

"You're a good girl Jenna. Don't get mixed up with someone like me."

"Is this your way of just trying to let me down easy? Cuz you can just tell me you don't want me hanging around here anymore." There was an angry bite to her words she hadn't intended to let loose.

_Geez, Jenna. Frank much?_

"Let you down easy?" he laughed, deep and low and the sound of it made her knees tremble. "How about you come back and visit me again tomorrow."

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><p>AN: So that was the first chapter, things heat up pretty quickly in this story as it's not very long, so the monsters will be here soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Big thanks to Kripke for sharing his world with us.

Chapter 2

She saw him everyday. And everyday they managed to get some time alone somewhere where he would kiss her breathless. The sixth day, she asked him to sneak out and meet her after her parents went to bed. He led her into the hayloft of her father's barn and made love to her with the moonlight falling in through the un-shuttered window around them. He was sweet and kind and as gentle as he could be. She didn't delude herself with notions that it meant the same thing to him as it did for her. She'd been in love with him for years, but to him, she was the little girl next door, and would likely always be that. He didn't have to say it for her to know.

It didn't make her feelings for him any less.

And she continued to meet him every night just so that she could always hold to her heart the memory of being in his arms.

When there were only a few more days until Marcus left for his posting in Alabama, she came home from spending an hour with DeRelle and Marcus up at the Wells'. She was in good spirits despite the looming departure. He had made sure that she was in a good mood, and it wasn't as if the baby would tell on them for kissing behind the tool shed.

There was a shiny, ritzy car in her yard next to her dad's beat up truck and her mom's ancient Buick. She stopped short to see an unfamiliar person sitting at her mom's kitchen table with a chipped cup of coffee in his hands. He was in his early forties, short brown hair and quick eyes. He smiled at her, and for some reason, her skin prickled with goose bumps.

"Umm… Hello," she stammered, put off by the creep-factor she was picking up off the guy. She'd always been pretty good at reading people and this guy was uber-slimy.

"Jenna, Sweetheart," her mother spoke, "this is Mr. Connor. He's from Omnicron Oil."

"You're the company that's buying up the farms in the area," she replied.

_Duh. Totally obvious points go to Jenna Marsh._

"Yes I am. It's nice to meet you, Miss Marsh." He held out a hand for her to shake, and even though she really didn't want to touch the guy that was looking at her in a way that made her really uncomfortable, her parents would be disappointed in a show of rudeness. She stuck out her hand and tried not to shudder when his flesh came into contact with hers. It was like a suffocating blanket had been tossed over her, cutting off her air and making her gasp faintly. Mr. Connor smirked slightly, and she wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a flash of black in the guy's brown eyes. He was slow to let go of her hand and she almost yanked herself free in a bid to get away from him. "Real nice to meet you, Darlin," he drawled silkily.

He turned back to her father, who had declined to sit at the table with the oil man, deigning to lean against the counter instead. "So Mr. Marsh, what can I offer you to get you to sell this land of yours, hmmm?"

"I've been over this with your people before, Mr. Connor," her dad's deep rumble filled the kitchen with un-rebuked authority. "I'm not selling my land for any price. So you can just stop bothering."

"Everyone has a price," the man ran a finger around the rim of his cup. "We've offered you a substantial amount of money for your farm – more than we've offered to anyone else. You're barely keeping your head above water as it is. Why not take the money and give your lovely family the life they deserve? Jenna here looks like she's ready for college in another year or so…?"

"My family and my daughter's education is my business, sir."

"But you could offer her so much more. I don't mean to be frank, but you can't send her to school and pay your bills and taxes too."

"Hey, mister!" she said hotly. "That's really none of your damn business!"

"Jenna!" her mother admonished her, but she caught the amused glint in her dad's eye. He didn't care what she said to the oil schmuck.

Connor held his hands up in mock surrender. "You're right, you're right. It's just that," he turned his fake charm onto her mother, "…I didn't come from a wealthy background. I had to fight and claw my way to where I am today, watching undeserving colleagues get promoted before me all because of the insignia on their diplomas. Surely you don't want that for your daughter?"

"I don't appreciate you using me as a pawn here, Mr. Connor." Jenna crossed her arms over her chest, cutting off any response her mother might have made and she glared at the guy. He smiled at her then, seeming to like her disdainful attitude towards him. It was almost, and she hated to think the word because of the heebie-jeebies it gave her… but it was almost lustful. Ugh.

_Well get ready to see more of it, buddy, _she thought angrily_. You're about to see a whole lot more if you don't stop looking at me like that. _It was seriously creeping her out, and she wondered if Mr. Connor was one of those freaks with a young girl fetish.

"Of course you don't," Connor smiled at her. "You're a strong willed one, aren't you? Mmmm, I can see big things in store for you in your future, my dear."

Her dad didn't miss that sordid look on the oil man's face and pushed himself away from the counter, standing next to her and radiating animosity towards the stranger. She had never been more grateful to have a big, burly, angry dad in her entire life.

"I think we're done here, Mr. Connor, and I think it's time for you to get going."

"I really wish you'd reconsider my offer, Mr. Marsh. There is no benefit to you holding onto this land. It will bury you."

"Maybe, and maybe not. But that's none of your concern. Good-bye Mr. Connor, and please tell your boss to stop sending his representatives over here. They'll get the same answer I gave you and all the others that came here."

"I don't need to tell my boss anything, Mr. Marsh – I'm the CEO of Omnicron Oil."

_Wow, he must want this place bad if he's willing to go slumming himself…_

"Well then – I think we understand each other then."

"Perfectly." Connor stood from the table and nodded at her mother. "Mrs. Marsh, thank you for the coffee… Miss Marsh," he nodded to her.

There! She'd definitely seen it that time. His eyes flashed black and changed back to their normal brown in a blink. Her parents didn't see it, he was looking down at her and they couldn't have. And he smiled at the wide eyes she gave him, as if it was something he could do on purpose and took great, icky, pleasure in the shock he had instilled on her.

Her dad saw him to the door and she sat down at the table before her mom could notice her hands shaking. As genial as he came off on the surface, those eyes told her something else.

Mr. Connor was a bad man.

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><p>She met Marcus in the barn that night. She was still too uptight with the meeting with Connor earlier, and Marcus noticed her agitated state immediately. So she told him about the events in the kitchen, arms around herself as she fought the chill she felt despite the stifling heat of the stale barn air.<p>

"You're gonna think I'm crazy," she whispered, "…but I swear I saw his eyes change color." Marcus wrapped strong arms around her and held her tight. "And this is gonna sound really conceited, but I didn't like the look he was giving me. I just felt dirty having him look at me like that with my parents there."

"Shhh," he whispered soothingly into her dark hair. "He's gone, Jenna-girl. And you don't have a conceited bone in your body – you're a helluva lot cuter than you think you are."

She snorted a quick laugh. Leave it to Marcus to cheer her up by making fun of her.

"You think I'm lying to you?" He turned her to face him, white teeth gleaming against the dark skin. "Goddamn, girl, why do you think I'm out waiting for you everyday?"

"To see if I'm bringing any of my mom's baking for you?" she joked. Marcus was a man that lived to eat.

"And why am I risking my life by meeting you in your daddy's barn every night? That man would fill my black ass full of buckshot if he knew what we were up to."

"I don't think he'd be too happy with me either, if it's any consolation for you." She smiled sadly at him, drinking in the sight of him bathed in moonlight like he was.

"So why on earth are we both out here risking our necks for a bit of tail?" He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers so that the only place she could look was into his dark eyes.

While they'd been intimate together, she'd never told him the depths of her true feelings for him – not wanting to put him under that kind of pressure. She knew he didn't feel the way for her as she did for him, and she was okay with that. So she opted for a half-truth. "Because I like you?"

He gave a soft snort, closing his eyes as if praying for patience. "Let me tell you something, Jenna." He opened his eyes and readjusted his hold on her so that he was holding her tight against him. "You were always the cute 'lil white girl next door. And I never made a pass at you cuz you deserve better than me. But you kissed me first – so it's your own damn fault for opening the damn door in the first place."

"So you like me?" she asked hopefully, not quite able to put together what he was saying. Someone like Marcus wouldn't be eyeing up someone like her all on his own.

"What in the hell other reason would I be out here for?" he asked incredulously.

Instead of giving him an answer, she just opted to hug him back and she pressed her cheek against his chest. After a sigh, his tense position melted and he relaxed against her. She hadn't even noticed he was so tense until he relaxed. It wasn't long after that that he started kissing her ear, trailing his dark lips down her pale throat, and touching her in places that left streaks of fire in their wake.

He had just pulled her shirt over her head when she heard the scream. She'd never heard the sound of anything like it before. It was like a wounded animal, and she vaguely remembered old tales of big cat in the area before being hunted and chased out. She thought that maybe a cougar had wandered into the area, when she realized that the screaming was her mother.

"Mom?" she whispered, confused beyond belief. What in the name of God could make her mother make a noise like that? She pulled away from Marcus and pulled her shirt back on. Marcus leaned out the loft window, trying to see what was making the noise.

It was like all the cheesy horror movies she'd ever seen. Her mom came stumbling out of the house, pale yellow nightdress glowing in the moonlight, and she had a long bloody gash down her arm and up her leg. She was limping badly, half dragging the bloody leg behind her but still managing to move pretty fast despite that.

The first thing she thought was that there must have been a noise that her mom went to go investigate. Maybe a stray dog or coyote or something was in the trash and lashed out at her mom when she tried to scare it off. That would be a _normal_ explanation. She was about to run down the barn stairs to her mother's aid, knowing she'd have to accept the consequences of her mom learning about her and Marcus' midnight rendezvous – but it was her mom and she was hurt. She had to go to her and that was it. But Marcus grabbed her arm, yanking her back.

"Let me go!" she hissed.

"Jenna – no!" He pointed out the loft window and she saw him.

There was a man out there rounding the side of the house, running at her mom and howling. Everything slowed down at that moment, and she saw everything in shocking detail. She could see the shadow on the ground from her mom's Buick, the faded blue paint looking dark grey in the bright moonlight. She could see the moths banging stupidly against the bare bulb on the front of the house. She could see the dark blood smeared on her mom's limbs, and the fear in her eyes. She saw her mom stoop and pick up a rock smaller than her fist and hurl it at the running stranger. The throw knocked her mom off balance on her wounded leg and she crashed to the ground. The rock she threw bounced off the attacker's chest, and as her mom tried to struggle to her feet to run again, the person leapt on her and buried his mouth into her mom's shoulder.

Her blood ran cold as her mother screamed that wounded animal cry again, and she saw the darkness well up on her mom's shoulder and blood running down the face of her attacker.

"MOM!" she screamed.

The attacker looked up, scanning the barn looking for who screamed. His face lit up like a grotesque jack-o-lantern when he saw her in the window. The fucker smiled at her with her mom's blood running down his chin and that made her – of all things – angry.

Her mom clubbed the man in the side of the face with her uninjured arm. It sent him sprawling, but it wasn't enough for her mom to get away.

"Jenna! RUN!" she screamed, kicking up at the attacker's groin when he came near her. He snatched her foot and twisted it sharply. Her mom howled again, back arching against the gravel driveway as her ankle snapped.

Just as she was wondering where in hell her dad was, she heard the commotion coming from the open windows of the house. There was a fight going on in there too if the sudden crash and glass breaking was any indication.

She sprinted for the steps, Marcus hot on her heels. She was about to tear off into the driveway to try to help her mom when Marcus grabbed her elbow and yanked her back.

"Where's your dad keep his rifles?" he demanded, heading to a metal locker against the wall. "Here?"

"Yeah," she responded, diving for the toolbox on a workbench where the locker key was kept. Her dad kept a few rifles around. Some were ones he'd bought over the years, and some were her grandfather's that were left to her dad when the old man passed away. Her dad would hunt deer now and again, and he liked duck, but the reason he kept a rifle in the barn was for protection from predators. Coyote's were common in these parts, and they had become more brazen over the last number of years, stealing up to the pens and trying to kill off various livestock. Dad had taken to keeping a rifle out here in case he saw a coyote going for one of the goats or calves or something.

She threw open the toolbox lid, throwing contents aside until she saw the grease-spotted key in one of the compartmental trays. "I got it!" she cried, running to the locker and trying to jab the key home. Her hands were shaking so bad that Marcus wrestled the key from her hands and got the door open himself. He yanked her dad's old Remington 700 from the stand, and he grabbed a box of shells from the top shelf. Slamming four rounds into the chamber, he slipped the safety and ran for the door. She grabbed a rusty knife from next to the toolbox and a crowbar from against the wall and ran out after Marcus.

The first thing that hit her, was that the stranger was chewing something. Of all the shit that was going on, she noticed him chewing. Her mom was screaming and there was blood everywhere, but she sees the guy was chewing something and for the life of her, she couldn't understand why. It was when she saw the man lean into her mother's shoulder again, biting her and ripping away to fresh screams from her mom, that she understood.

She freaking understood.

This guy was _eating_ her mom.

Blood was running down his face in thick rivers, and he had a look of lustful satisfaction on his face as he straddled her mom and chewed on her flesh.

Marcus stopped running halfway across the yard. He brought the rifle up to his eye and shot the cannibalistic sonofabitch right in the chest. The force of the shot sent the guy pitching to the side, clutching at his chest. And somehow he got back up. That stopped her in her tracks.

_How the hell did he just get up? Marcus shot him in the chest._

In a momentary stunned paralysis, Marcus visibly shook himself and raised the rifle again. The second shot landed a few inches to the left of the first one. This one knocked the stranger full out to the ground next to her mom. Mom gave a faint moan, a hand raised in feeble self-defense. The guy struggled to roll over, and before they could do anything, he sunk his teeth into her mom's throat, cutting her off mid-scream as he came away with a large portion of her mom's neck dangling from his lips. Mom's legs jittered and danced as she gurgled, drowning in her own blood.

"MOM!" she screamed, starting to run forward when Marcus grabbed for her and yanked her back.

She dropped the rusty knife as she skid in the loose gravel, nearly falling to her knees in the process. Marcus let go of her and brought the rifle back up to his eye. The stranger spat out the section of her mom's throat that he was sucking on, smiling with bloodstained teeth at them as he got slowly back to his feet.

Marcus shot him in the chest again. The guy staggered, but kept his feet this time. He took a step towards them, licking the blood from his lips and stepped towards them again. Marcus fired a fourth time. The rifle was empty, and the stranger smiled and started moving towards them.

"Run, Jenna!" he shouted, grabbing her elbow and nearly ripping her arm off as he headed back for the barn.

"But Mom!"

The door to the house flung open and three more strangers emerged, blood dripping from their smiling faces. One was jauntily swinging something that looked sickeningly like a large hand with a burly forearm attached to it.

_No…_

"DADDY!" she screeched as she fought against Marcus' pull

"There's nothing we can do! Come on!" He tugged her again, and let go of her arm to shove some more shells into the Remington.

"MOM!" she screamed, but the jostling legs had ceased, and Marcus half lifted her around the waist and was dragging her towards the barn again. "DADDY!" It would have been better to get into one of the cars and drive away, but with no keys, and the strangers between them and the vehicles, they were shit outta luck.

He shoved her back into the barn, slamming the door behind them and Marcus dropped the length of angle iron into the bracket to bar the door. Those braces had weathered the force of hurricanes, now they were counting on them to keep the intruders out. She at least had the presence of mind to help Marcus dash along the first floor of the barn, shutting and barring the dozen windows. The horses were nervous in their stalls, whinnying and stomping their hooves in their distress. The cows and goats that weren't out in the pasture were little better.

There was a loud crash at the double wooden door at the front. This door was wide enough to drive a tractor through, and the wooden door here was less solid than the smaller ones. These doors swung out instead of in, and the metal bar didn't reach from one jamb to the other like the other barricaded doors. Consequently, every time there was a hurricane, it was the big double doors that suffered the most damage. A second large crash sounded at the double doors and they could hear the mumblings of the blood soaked strangers.

"Shit!" Marcus cursed, digging into the metal locker and pulling another, decrepit looking rifle out and handing it to her. "Do you know how to fire that?" he demanded.

"Yeah. Daddy taught me." Her voice hitched on that word and she bit back a sob. Marcus shoved some rounds at her and headed for the stairs to the next floor. "Come on, Jenna."

Her hands were shaking so bad that she dropped two of the shells as she tried to slip them into the chamber. She stooped to pick them up and ran after Marcus instead.

Marcus strode towards the window they had looked out earlier, brought the rifle up to his eye and fired off a round. She braced her back against the wall, took two deep breaths to stop the shaking, and shoved the shells into the Weatherby Vanguard that had been her Grandpa's. There was such a tornado of thoughts and feelings in her mind that she couldn't tell what she was thinking, and images of her mom's dancing legs and gurgling last breathes threatened to crumple her into a useless heap. It was someone calling her name that caught her attention.

"_Jennn-naaa…_"

Marcus fired again before she could get to the window to see the voice she recognized from earlier that day. It didn't make the sight any easier to bear when she saw Mr. Connor standing in the yard below her, a grin on his face and the cannibals circled around him like devoted lap dogs. Mr. Connor was sporting a brand new hole in his stomach which didn't seem to bother him much.

"There you are, Sweetheart!" he clapped his hands happily. "It's nice to see you again, Darlin'. Why don't you pop on down here so you and I can have us a little talk?"

"Go to hell you sonofabitch!" she shrieked as she brought the Vanguard up to her eye and fired at the oil exec. Never in her life had she ever fired at a breathing target but this monster was wearing the blood of her parents! The old Vanguard kicked like a mule, and the recoil hurt her shoulder something fierce, but the pain in her shoulder was nothing compared to the pain consuming her soul. Connor staggered a bit from the bullet that had landed in his gut, but that was it. She would have thought they were wearing Kevlar with the way they surviving the shots, but there were wells of dark blood pooling on their clothes.

"What are you!" she demanded. "What the fuck are you!"

"Well ain't that the million dollar question?" Connor laughed. "Darlin', I ain't nothing you've ever seen before."

Jenna cast a quick glace to where her mom lay in the moonlight. She was still.

"Oh, she's dead alright," Connor grinned. "Tasty too." He put a finger in his mouth and drew it out slowly, closing his eyes in bliss. "Finger lickin' good."

"What do you want?" she screamed, tears burning behind her eyes as one of the strangers cast longing looks at her mother's prone form. "You sick bastard! Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can, Darlin'."

"You killed these people because they wouldn't sell you their farm!" Marcus accused him, rifle trained on the executive.

"No one was speaking to you, Junior. And you shoot me one more time and I'll snap your fucking neck." Connor snapped his fingers. "Like that," he taunted him.

"You killed my parents!" Tears were running down her face now, and a raging fire was building up inside her at the act performed at this monster's bidding.

"Technically… they did." Connor nodded at the fawning cannibals and winked at her. "I just gave them a nudge in the right direction."

"Why?"

"You got something I want, Kid."

"The oil? There's not enough to warrant a drilling rig!"

"Yeah… It's all about the oil," he said snidely. It was too dark to see if Connor's eyes flashed to black, but she shuddered all the same.

"Hey," the exec smiled up at her, "wanna see a neat trick?" He widened his stance and held his arm out in front of him, palms a few inches apart. He muttered something she didn't understand and suddenly there was a growing ball of blue fire trapped between his palms.

"Jesus!" Marcus jumped back from the window, shocked at what he'd seen.

Connor gave her a bone chilling smile and turned and threw the blue ball of fire at the house. It left blue tracers on her eyeballs, and the ball exploded on impact, raining little blue raindrops of flame all over the front wall of the house where they fizzled a second before catching on the wooden shakes. Within two seconds, a sheet of fire was consuming the front wall of her home.

"Daddy!" she shrieked.

"He's dead too, Pumpkin," Connor called up to her, laughing like the deranged.

Screaming, she lifted the Vanguard and shot him in the neck. It was a miracle shot by any means, let alone shooting downwards from her greater height and through the tears that blurred her vision. It was the anger and rage that made her aim true.

Too bad it didn't do squat to the man standing in the yard below her loft window besides make him stumble a bit before regaining his balance.

"You little bitch!" he hissed, blood gurgling through the hole in his windpipe. "If I didn't need you…" he trailed off, muttering angrily to himself as he swiped at the blood coating the front of his expensive suit.

It was the glow from the burning house that made her see the shadows on the periphery of the firelight. Two figures, dark as shadows themselves and holding rifles. She started, recognizing the figures, and that was their downfall. Marcus saw her jerk, Connor saw her jerk, and both looked in the direction she'd glanced at.

It was Marcus' father and next younger brother – Jerome.

Connor flung a hand in their direction, and she thought he was going to hurl blue flame at them, but whatever he did, it flung them through the air like a hurricane tosses plastic lawn furniture.

"Look at that, boys!" Connor crowed with delight as Mr. Wells and Jerome crumpled into a heap on the ground, struggling to get to their feet. "After dinner snacks!"

"Dad! Jerome! RUN!" Marcus bellowed, raining down fire on the cannibals that were running at his dad and brother. Jenna trained her rifle on the sick fucks too, but the bullets did as much damage this time as they did before.

Mr. Wells got to his feet and swung the stock of the rifle at his oncoming attacker like a club. He got him square in the jaw, and it knocked him sideways, but that left his side open for the next attacker and he tackled the black man to the ground, followed by a deathly scream of pain as the cannibal bit into him. The night air filled with screams as Jerome was taken down too.

"NO!" Marcus made to run for the stairs but Jenna grabbed him by the arm and dug her feet into the floor to stop him from running out. There wasn't much her hundred and fifteen pounds could do against the military recruit, but she could damn well make a good anchor.

"_Maarr-cuussss_…" Connor taunted him from below. The screaming had stopped and they feared the worst when they went back to the window. Mr. Wells and Jerome were both on their knees next to the exec, bleeding profusely and panting heavily, rifles taken from them and the cannibals hovering over them as if they were waiting for the boss to give the word to start feeding again.

"Come on down a minute, Marcus. I want to talk to your daddy for a second." Connor asked this so politely, Jenna didn't even have to wonder if Mr. Connor was deranged – she knew he was.

"Don't… do it… son," Mr. Wells gasped. Connor backhanded him and the older man fell to his side before being yanked back upright by the nearest blood-soaked stranger.

"Marcus. Come. Here." Connor ground out. "Now!" Connor flicked his wrist, and Marcus went sailing out of the window as if he'd been gripped by invisible hands and jerked out. He toppled out and landed heavily on the ground, fifteen feet down. He groaned as he tried to get to his feet, obviously stunned by the landing and whatever had made him fall in the first place. He was grabbed from behind by one of the cannibals. Marcus struggled, but the stranger had his arms wedged up painfully behind him, immobilizing him. The cannibal and his teeth were too close to his neck and Jenna cried out, "What do you want? Let them go!"

"Not one and the same, kid." Connor smirked up at her. "Hope you enjoy the view, cupcake… You're in for a real show."

The stranger pulled Marcus' head back, exposing his throat and the almost sexual look the cannibal was giving him made her shudder. She hoisted the Vanguard to her eye, trained it on the executive, and called out, "Let him go!"

"Jenna, run for it!" Marcus hollered.

"Damn, girl. If you ain't dumber than a sack of bricks… Your bullets don't do squat – or were you not paying attention?" The maniacal gleam in Connor's eyes chilled her to the bone. He was right of course… the bullets did nothing to the attackers or their master, but what else could she do? They killed her parents, they had Marcus and his family, and they had her trapped in the barn.

"Let. Them. Go." She hissed through clenched teeth. Anger and rage was now a living organism in her gut and it was screaming for vengeance.

"Make me." Connor taunted her, grinning that grin that made her want to kill him even more. "Just you fucking make me little girl."

The crack came out of nowhere. And from the crack from nowhere, there came a red mist in the air above Marcus' head, and the cannibal fuck that was holding him crumpled to the ground with a giant red hole in the side of his skull.

"What the…?" Connor whipped around just in time to see the headlights flare to life of a truck roaring up the driveway, and more shots echoing around the farmstead. Marcus jumped up and lunged for the oil exec, but Connor was quick and dodged. He drove an expensive looking shoe into Marcus' gut, doubling him over. "Finish them!" Connor shouted to the remaining three strangers still hovering over Mr. Wells and Jerome. They seemed at a loss, unable to decide if they should run for freedom, or finish eating what they'd started. That indecision cost one of them his life as a bullet blew into his head and he crumpled to the ground.

_Headshots_, she thought. _Got it_.

She trained the Vanguard on Connor's forehead, praying for a miracle as she pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed his ear, eliciting a bellow of rage from the man, but no other damage.

"Damn it!" she swore, digging in her pocket for more shells to reload the empty rifle.

More gun fire came from the strange truck, accompanied by a screaming engine as it tore and spun through the dirt. The engine wasn't the only thing that was screaming, and she shoved the last shell into the chamber and brought it back up to her eye. It was another sight on the worst night of her life that would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her days. Jerome lay unmoving on the ground, blood pooling out from his ravaged throat, Mr. Wells not far from him, bleeding heavily and Marcus crouched protectively next to him with one last cannibal hovering over them like a hungry vulture and ready to pounce on the unarmed men. She didn't even consciously lift the rifle to her eye – it was like she was on autopilot and everything slowed down for that one fraction of a second so that she could feel the heavy thud of her heart in her chest, hear her blood pumping in her ears, see the dirt flying from the tires of the Frankenstein's monster of a truck peeling across her yard. She could taste the smoke from her burning house – thick and acrid at the back of her throat – and she could smell all the blood that was pooling from the bodies littering her property. Copper and iron and smoke and death surrounded her… and one heartbeat told her to hold her breath and squeeze the trigger. The last cannibal's head exploded in an eruption of bone and blood and brain matter.

The strange truck skidded to a stop next to Marcus and his dad, and two men jumped out. Each held rifles, and while the one wearing the trucker hat and greasy vest went to Marcus and Mr. Wells, the dark haired one went to each of the cannibals and kicked them over to check if they were still alive or not.

"Where's Connor?" she screamed from her window, whipping her head around left and right searching for the man that destroyed her life.

"Gone," the dark haired one grunted as he flipped over a body. "Vanished after you winged him."

She raced down the stairs with the rifle still held firm in her hand. She yanked the length of iron angle out of the bracket barring the door and ran out into the yard. She dropped to her knees next to Marcus and his dad. Mr. Wells was still breathing, but it was clear that he wasn't going to be doing so for very long. It wasn't the blood leaking out of the bullet wound in his arm that was killing him – it was the gaping hole in his gut and the intestines spilling out of the wound that was killing the older man.

Greasy-Vest was in the dirt next to his head, cradling it on his knees and dribbling some liquid from a silver flask between his lips. Mr. Wells was trying to speak, but the blood bubbling out of his mouth made everything impossible to make out, and still Greasy-Vest tried to get the liquid down his throat.

She scrabbled over to Jerome, and felt her stomach lurch. He was her age, and if she hadn't always been head over heels for Marcus, she would have found Jerome just as handsome. But the sight of his graying skin, and the copper scent of the blood pooling out of him, brought the tears to her eyes at the life cut so short. "No…"

A big hand reached out and tenderly closed the death frozen eyes. She looked up into the face of the dark-haired man, her vision blurred by the tears burning her eyes.

"Who are you?" she choked.

"I'm sorry. We got here too late." He didn't meet her searching gaze, and quickly stood and turned away to stare at the burning house.

A garbled gasp and Marcus crying, "Hang on, Dad," made her turn back to the grizzly scene behind her. Marcus had his dad's hand pressed to his cheek and he was sobbing as his father's body shuddered and stilled. The hand Marcus was holding went limp and Marcus broke down and wept.

She turned on the spot, taking in the damage all around her. Her home burning to the ground, her mother ripped and torn on the driveway. She started to run to her mother, but a strong arm wrapped around her waist and held her against his chest.

"There's nothing you can do for her, Sweetheart," the bass rumble of the whisper filled her ears. "She's gone."

"My dad was in the house…" she sobbed, trying to put everything together but nothing fit. "He was in the house…"

"I'm very sorry."

She broke down then, crumbling in on herself and the younger stranger lowered her gently to the ground, letting her cry against his shoulder. She crawled across the gravel driveway, not caring about the sharp rocks tearing into her knees and palms. She threw herself onto her mother's prone form, sobbing into her pale nightgown and feeling the warm stickiness of the blood soaking into her clothes and hair.

"Mom…" she wailed into the material, her fingers twisting into the soft, thin cotton. "Mom…"

A familiar, dark hand landed on her shoulder and pulled her up. She burrowed her face into Marcus' chest and she felt him bury himself in her hair, and they held onto each other to keep the anguish from washing them away.

After a moment, Marcus lifted his head and demanded, "Who are you? What were those things? Why didn't the bullets do anything to stop them? They just kept coming."

"They were zombies, son." Greasy-Vest answered, getting up from the dirt and dusting off his legs tiredly. "And only a head-shot would kill 'em."

"Zombies?" Marcus was incredulous. "You can't expect me to believe that."

"Believe what you want, Kid," Dark-hair, dead-panned. "That's what they were."

She lifted her face out of the protective cocoon of Marcus' chest. "Connor was a zombie too?"

"No. That bastard's a demon."

"Yeah," Greasy-Vest agreed. "That guy's been giving me the slip for a long time. When stuff started to blip on the radar in this area, I hustled on down to see what was shakin'. I'm sorry I didn't get here in time."

"Demons and zombies?" Marcus demanded. "Just who the hell are you two?"

"We're hunters." Dark-hair said simply. "We go after the things that go bump in the night. And trust me, there's a ton of them out there."

"Hunters?" she repeated. Just what the hell did that mean? "Hunters of _what?_" she asked stupidly.

"Monsters, Sweetheart. They're real, and they're vicious and we track them down and kill them. Zombies, werewolves, ghosts… and demons." A scanner crackled to life from inside the truck and Dark-hair moved over to Greasy-Vest, and said in a low, deep voice, "I got tagged on my last job. We need to get outta here before the cops and firemen get here."

Greasy nodded.

Turning back to them, Dark-hair said, "We're sorry we weren't here in time to stop this. But we have to get out of here before the authorities arrive. We'd appreciate it if you didn't mention our presence." Without waiting for an answer the two hunters strode back to the jalopy of a truck and they peeled out, bouncing up and down on the rough, uneven grade.

Feeling strangely detached from everything, likely the shock of the night finally settling into her bones, she wandered over to the cannibal she'd shot in the head. His skull had almost literally exploded – the back of his head was completely gone – and there was no way that the Vanguard had done that on its own. Squatting down she examined the pulpy mess of a cranium at her feet. Tipping her head to the side, she saw the entry hole from her bullet just above his right ear. She'd seen enough of those stupid CSI shows to know that the entry wound was always small, and the exit wound was the one that blew muscle and tissue and bone all to hell. Not wanting to touch the thing with her hands, she used the muzzle of the rifle to turn its head.

There, just above the left temple, was an entry hole from a second bullet from the opposite direction.

She glanced up but saw nothing of the truck in the darkness, not even a dust cloud could be seen in the night. She wondered just what sort of men could accomplish a tricky thing like a headshot while in a moving vehicle over bumpy ground.

_Dangerous men. That's who._


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Big thanks to Kripke for sharing his world with us.

Chapter 3

It took nearly fifteen minutes from the time the tail-lights of the jalopy left the driveway until the flashing lights of the police and ambulances and fire trucks showed up. It was a whole soul-numbing day answering questions and seeing the police collect evidence, watching the firemen dump water on her house. She saw her mom put into a black body-bag and loaded into an ambulance, and it was some time later before she saw a gurney being wheeled across the uneven gravel yard bearing her father's sheet wrapped corpse.

The authorities wanted to take her away. They wanted to put her in a foster home since she was still a minor and being placed with strangers was the last thing she wanted. Mrs. Wells convinced them that they were the only family Jenna had left and it would be cruel and un-Christian of them to take her away and put her with strangers after what had happened. Even through the grief of her husband and son's death, Estelle was a force to be reckoned with. Her iron will was how she coped through raising four boys and fostering another. Jenna held little DeRelle to her chest, the heavy, warm weight of the child gave her something to focus on besides the sheet draped stretcher bearing her father's charred and mutilated body as it was pushed to a waiting ambulance an hour earlier. The lights of the ambulance weren't flashing – there was no need.

The police eventually conceded to Estelle's browbeating, and agreed that Jenna could stay with them for the time being until a suitable foster home could be arranged.

The story that she and Marcus had told the detectives was pretty simple, and close enough to the truth so that they didn't have to remember their lies. They'd been messing around together in the barn when they heard screaming. A band of crazed robbers had attacked the Marsh home and killed Jenna's parents. They had barricaded themselves in the barn and shot at the attackers. The robbers burnt down the house, and the blaze and gunfire had drawn Jerome and Mr. Wells to the Marsh farm. Estelle said she had called 911 while her husband and son went to help the Marsh's.

By un-spoken agreement, neither of the two mentioned Mr. Connor and his involvement, the fact that he's a demon, or the attackers were blood-hungry zombies, or that two certified monster hunters showed up with guns blazing and took off just as quickly. Saying any of that would have landed them in a padded cell in a heartbeat and they both knew it. She had no idea what they were going to do once the forensic teams started digging and blew their lies to smithereens.

The police gave the grievers their condolences, and as the sun set on the most horrible day in her life they said that they'd be back the next day to ask further questions. The pitying looks they gave the teens was enough to drive home the fact that they were glad they weren't in the young couple's shoes.

After the detectives were gone, Estelle sank into the sofa next to Jenna and DeRelle, hand covering her eyes, and after sobbing for a moment, she demanded to know what had really happened.

So they told her.

_Everything._

And she believed them.

"You have to run for it." Estelle whispered, as if there were still policemen hovering in the kitchen listening instead of patrolling the farmland.

"Run?" Jenna asked, confusion seeping in through the mind-numbing grief.

"Once they have time to examine the bodies of the zombies, they'll see there are too many types of rounds for there to have just been the two of you firing. They'll be able to tell that the attackers have been dead for God knows how long, and that they were feeding on…" she trailed off on the last part, unable to come to grips that her husband, son, and neighbors were eaten alive by zombies. "They'll demand to know who helped you, and they'll want to know why you didn't mention them or Mr. Connor in your first statement." She heaved herself off the sofa and drew Marcus against her in a bone-crushing hug. "God, Baby – they'll arrest you because they won't understand."

"Shhh, Mama, it's gonna be okay," he whispered into her graying hair while patting her back. "But I'm not leaving you here alone. Not with Daddy and Jerome…" He couldn't say the rest of that sentence without the grief stealing his words from him.

"You have to, Baby. You have to. I can't bear to see you locked up, and they might take Jenna away too. They'll get some slick lawyers to twist your story into something terrible and make it sound like you did something other than try to defend yourselves. They might even try to make it sound like you had something to do with it." She broke away from her son and sat next to her on the sofa. Taking one of Jenna's hands in her own, the stricken woman looked her earnestly in the eyes. "Jenna-girl, your daddy was a good man, but it don't take a rocket scientist to know that he would never have approved of you being with Marcus, and that's a cold, honest fact. And once they start digging and asking neighbors questions, they'll know that about him. The investigators will think that you and Marcus engineered the whole thing so that you could be together and they'll cling to that no matter what the evidence tells them because they need something they can understand – and they won't understand zombies and demons. The sheriff is up for re-election and it won't look good on him to not find the murderers on this. They will lock you two up for the rest of your lives for murder, if they don't give you the death penalty… and I can't let them do that to you."

Realization kicked her in the face at that moment as Estelle's words sank in. She was right. The investigators had to come up with something to explain the murders, and blaming her and Marcus would be their best bet. Besides that, they withheld information from the authorities and that wasn't gonna sit well with anyone. The lawyers needed a scapegoat to soothe the public on the heinous crimes committed against her family, and she and Marcus were it. Even if they came out with what really happened, they'd be labeled liars or insane and would be locked up for the rest of their lives regardless. Information and evidence would be buried so deep, she might as well crawl into the hole with it.

The older black woman leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "You're a good girl, Jenna, and I've always loved you like one of my own. I can't see my babies go to death row. I just can't. You have to run."

"Yes," she whispered, seeing everything clearly at that moment. "Yes, we'll run."

"Mama, I ain't leaving you here alone with that bastard Connor still on the loose!" Marcus bellowed.

"You have to, Baby," Estelle pleaded with her son. "We'll be gone from here in a few days. Connor already has our property so there's no reason to come after us."

"Except to kill you for what you know!"

"And who am I going to tell, hmmm? Just who on God's green earth is going to believe any of this?"

"The hunters will," Jenna whispered. "Connor can't be allowed to get away with this. Who knows how many lives he's destroyed? Maybe we can find those guys and once Connor is dead, then your family will be safe."

"They could be anywhere, sweetheart," Estelle rested her work-worn hand on her own. The raised voices made the baby twitch in her arms and Jenna rubbed her cheek against his fat one to soothe him. "How would you find them?"

"I saw the plates on the truck," Marcus admitted as he sank wearily into the ancient cushions of an armchair. "North Dakota narrows down the playing field a bit."

"So we go to North Dakota and track them down." Jenna already had a plan formulating in her head. Vengeance was forefront in her mind and Connor would pay for killing her parents and for Jerome and Mr. Wells. An anger bigger and blacker than anything she'd ever felt before bubbled up inside her with a life of its own and she vowed on her life that Connor would pay for what he did.

* * *

><p>The police had taken her Dad's Remington and Vanguard as evidence, so they raided Mr. Wells' gun cabinet. They stashed two worse-for-wear Remingtons into a soft shelled guitar case that had belonged to Jerome, along with a Smith and Wesson Model 28 that Marcus tucked into the back of his jeans.<p>

Estelle tried to press a small roll of bills into Marcus's hands. "Take it, Baby. You'll need something."

"You'll need it too," he pushed the roll back at her. Jenna could see it was mostly fives and singles – things were tight around here without adding this mess on top of it.

"I still have a roof over my head and food in the kitchen. Take it."

Grudgingly, Marcus pocketed the money. "I don't like leaving you here like this, Mama. Not with Daddy and Jerome gone."

"The police won't let this place outta their sight, especially once they look at the bodies. They've got people all over the area looking for evidence. You'll have to be careful until you get far enough away. You know this area better than they do. Use it. Cut across the fields and through the woods as you head north. If you see headlights coming, duck into the ditch and keep hidden. And for God's sakes, do not get caught."

"I won't, Mama," Marcus vowed as he hugged her to him and kissed the top of his mother's head. Tears were burning down his cheeks at the thought of leaving her here alone and unprotected. "Remember," he whispered into her ear, "Headshots."

"I'll remember. And take care of Jenna, baby. She needs you to be strong."

Estelle pulled herself out of her eldest son's embrace and pulled Jenna against her. "Take care, sweetheart. And take care of my baby."

She started to cry against the older woman's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Estelle. I'm so sorry."

"You didn't do nothing, child. It's that demon that's at fault. Don't you ever think otherwise." Estelle pulled away and stood tall in the center of the rundown living room. "Now go. Get out of here before it's too late."

"What will you tell the police? Running away only makes us look guilty."

"Honey, nothing will make you look any guiltier than the story the police are going to make up. Now go."

* * *

><p>They had crossed into Texas and headed north. They were careful to stay out of sight for two whole days. By then, they had already hidden inside a horse trailer and traveled over two hundred miles with a beautiful bay mare that wasn't about to tell a soul about her stowaway travelling companions. They were careful not to take public transportation. A bus would soak up the little money they had and they didn't want anyone seeing their faces. A quick side note on the news one night in northern Texas showed pictures of them, saying they were wanted by the police for questioning. The rundown was almost exactly as Estelle had said it would be and there was no mention of the attackers being previously dead and satanically arisen. Her picture shown was her school photo while Marcus's was the photo they took of him when he signed up for boot camp. They had to make themselves look different and fast, so she cut off her long dark hair up to her ears and poured a bottle of peroxide over it to lighten it up. She hated it, but she had to admit that she didn't look like herself anymore. Marcus decided to keep the hood of his sweater up all the time and to let his beard grow out. They were lucky that it grew fast and within the first week, he'd have a pretty good disguise going on.<p>

They got into a transfer trailer early one morning when it finished unloading at a grocery store. They crawled up to the front of it and hid between pallets of breakfast cereal and dry goods. It was the fist time they had a full belly in a week. Once it got back to its depot, they managed to get out without being seen and listened in on what trucks were going where. One in the corner of the lot was set to leave for Kansas City in an hour and the driver was complaining about the quick turnaround and that he would be over on his driving hours this week and the union was going to hear about it. A non-stop drive to Kansas City was a third of the way to North Dakota and they managed to steal onboard just before the driver left. This truck was full of boxes of clothing bound for Target, cleaning supplies and two sofas. At least they had somewhere comfortable to sit on the long drive, and they had swiped some cereal bars from the first truck, so at least they wouldn't starve. Marcus cut into the pallets of clothes so that they could get some fresh ones. While he had a sweater with him and a change of pants, all her things had gone up in smoke and the jacket she'd gotten out of Jerome's closet was too big for her and attracted attention. And nothing sounded better than a clean pair of underwear. She hated the idea of stealing, but had no other choice. It wasn't as if she were choosing expensive looking clothes. She had to be able to run if the need arose so jeans, two t-shirts and a new hoodie were what she took… along with a three pack of underwear. She almost felt human again. Well… besides the angry, roiling ball of guilt festering in her gut and her mother's final screams ringing in her ears. Yeah… normal.

They slept in the back of the truck on the plastic wrapped sofas until the truck slowed hours later and they knew they must be close. Voices outside the truck once it stopped had them on alert because they were headed for the doors and the two of them waited behind the pallets waiting for their chance to escape. The door slammed open and light from floodlights filled the interior. Two guys climbed up and started looking over the pallets with flashlights, inspecting the inventory. The light washed over the pallet they were hiding behind and they ducked down to conceal themselves.

"Jerry, look at this!" one demanded. He was pointing his light at the pallet they had opened and taken clothes out of. They had put it back as well as they could so it wouldn't attract attention, but this guy saw a flap of shrink wrap loose and went to investigate.

"What the hell?" The other one panned the light over the pallet and then whipped around to scan the interior of the rest of the truck. They shrank back against the light and Jenna heard her sneaker squeak against the wood floor. "Who's in here!" The two drivers tried to push their way past the pallets but the fit was tight and they weren't skinny guys to start with.

"Run!" Marcus hissed, darting out from their hiding spot and making for the open doors by leaping up and running along the top of the pallets, drawing the trucker's attention. She ran too, ducking under the reaching arms of one guy and almost making it to the door when the other guy grabbed her arm and yanked her back. He whirled her around and she automatically lashed out with her foot and kicked the guy in the ample gut. He doubled over and she bolted, leaping out the back of the truck and landing hard on the ground next to where Marcus had just landed. He grabbed her elbow and they both started running for the fence line. There were shouts from the drivers to stop, but they were running like the devil himself were after them and the scrawny guy that stepped out of the gatehouse didn't stand a chance when Marcus punched him in the jaw as they ran past.

When they finally got far enough away that they could stop running and catch their breath, Jenna sank onto a picnic table and waited for her heart to explode in her chest. Marcus has his hand pressed to his chest and he was heaving just as bad. He smiled at her in the dark, white teeth gleaming, and she smiled in spite of herself. "Nice kick, Jenna-girl."

"Nice punch." She sagged back against the wood, letting the air fill her up and her breathing gradually started to slow. She could see a few stars in the sky, but there was too much light pollution in the city to see many of them. She missed the farm. She had been trying to not think of her parents, knowing that if she did she would break down in tears again. But the sudden realization that she could see the stars a helluva lot better back home had her curling in on herself sobbing. Warm arms drew her close and she cried against Marcus's shoulder as he rocked her back and forth.

"Shhh now, Jenna. It's okay. I'm here." His hand was buried in the short, brassy, bleached hair that she hated and she cried even harder.

"I'm sorry," she bawled into his sweatshirt. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

"Don't say things like that, Jenna. Don't you dare." He knew exactly what she was referring to because he had seen it simmering underneath for days. This was the first time she'd given it a voice.

"But it is! You're here because of me!"

"How the hell do you figure that?"

"You and your family should have been safe at home when the zombies came. I would have died in the house with my parents and you would still have your dad and brother!"

Marcus gripped her chin so hard it hurt and he made her look at him. He looked furious. "Now you listen to me, Jenna Marsh, and you listen good," he hissed. "I don't ever want to hear you say that stupid shit again – do you hear me? You are not taking the blame for what that fucking demon did."

"But if I had been in the house, Connor wouldn't have set the house on fire and your dad and Jerome wouldn't have come down to help."

"You don't know that. He might have done it for kicks anyway – then me, dad _and_ Jerome would've come down to help anyway and we woulda gotten killed regardless."

She tore her chin out of his grip and looked away, unable to keep looking into his dark eyes. How could he not see it? How could he stomach to look at her? "You can't make me believe that this isn't my fault."

"No, I can't," he admitted. He gently put his fingers on her chin again and turned her head towards him. He leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips and it was the first time he had kissed her since that night in the barn a lifetime ago. It took the breath right out of her. "I can't make you stop blaming yourself," he whispered as he pulled back, "but I can tell you that I don't blame you for anything. All that hate and blame in me is being held for the sonofabitch responsible – and that ain't you."

She couldn't say anything to him about that to make him understand how empty and numb she felt inside. She couldn't tell him about the guilt that was eating at her and she didn't want to press the matter anymore anyway. She would not be able to make him understand that it really was her fault. She had been running the entire exchange over in her head for days, and things weren't sitting right. Connor had remarked that it wasn't about the oil, so for what reason did he want the farm and all the ones around it? Why did he look at her as if he knew something about her? It was a very lonely place to be, thinking that she was the one responsible for so many deaths.

Marcus wasn't about to let her drown herself in self-loathing though, and he kissed her again, more demandingly. It was hard not to react to his touch. They had barely touched the past week since that night and she was wound up tighter than a coiled rattler. She had been certain that this was over between them and now he was just stuck with her because of circumstance; that he couldn't bear to touch her. That didn't seem to be the case at the moment as he was pulling at the zipper on his jeans. Everything bad she was feeling got lost right then as he took her right there on a picnic table behind some building in the empty industrial park. For the moment there was just the two of them, and they weren't on the run for the murder of their families, and they didn't know about demons and zombies and men who hunted them for a living.

Later, when there were only a few more hours until dawn, and they were both lying down on the top of the table trying to get some sleep, Marcus whispered in her ear as he threw an arm over her to draw her close and keep her warm, "Don't you ever think that stupid shit again, Jenna-girl." And then he drifted off to sleep and she was fighting not to start crying again as reality crashed in on her once more. They _were_ on the run, they _did_ know about monsters, and they _were_ trying to find the men who hunted them so that they could teach them how to as well so they could get their vengeance.

Life sucked.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Big thanks to Kripke for sharing his world with us.

Chapter 4

They had been on foot the last two days. They hadn't spoken about Connor or their families again, but there was an easier and more casual intimacy between them now that she had thought was lost. They just had to break the seal apparently.

They hadn't been able to get any other lifts north in the transfer trucks, and hitching wasn't getting them very far. They were a little less concerned about being spotted as Marcus's full facial scruff made him look quite different from the photo released of him, and she looked really different too with her short dyed hair. Besides, they hadn't seen any other clips about the cops putting out APB's on them and they were a lot further north so it likely wouldn't be as big news up here as it was back in Texas and Louisiana. Also, there had been a tornado just west of where they were so there was crazy media attention on that. Anything to divert attention from them didn't bother her a bit. She just hoped no one got hurt in that tornado – they were scary things to go through.

They were in St. Joseph, Missouri, fifty miles north of Kansas City when they hit a lucky break. They had been hitching on Route twenty-nine and it had been getting dark when a rundown truck pulled over on the side of the road just ahead of them. They ran to catch up. Marcus had a hand near the hidden knife handle in his pocket in case the guy was shady.

There was a mud splattered 'Jesus is my co-pilot' bumper sticker splayed across the back of the old brown and white Dodge Ram. The window rolled down and a graying head popped out the window. "Where you kids headed?" the voice of the man called out.

"North," Marcus answered as they pulled up even with the cab. The guy looked a little like a crazy looking Nick Nolte with his longish hair disheveled. There was a crucifix dangling from the rear view mirror and a Gideon's bible wedged between the dash and windshield.

The guy glanced from Marcus to her, standing behind the tall black man. "Where north, in particular?"

"Just north."

The guy shrugged. "Well I'm going to Fargo, is that north enough for ya?"

Jenna could hardly contain her excitement. This guy was going straight through South Dakota. So long as he wasn't a quack, they would be able to drive most of the rest of the way. Her feet and shoulders were killing her, and the thought of sitting down sounded wonderful.

"That would be great, thanks." They ran behind the truck to get in on the passenger side. She could tell that Marcus didn't like her sitting next to the stranger, but there were three seats on the bench-seat, and Marcus wouldn't make it far with his long legs propped up on the hump in the middle. She was too tired to care if the bible thumper was sitting next to her or not. She was so beat, that she would gladly lie down in the bed of the truck and ride back there if she had to.

Marcus laid the guitar case with the rifles in the truck bed and they piled in. The guy made some room on the bench seat by sweeping some papers into the dash and stuffed a jacket between the seat and cab back. She hopped up onto the cracked vinyl seat with Marcus right behind her. It was heaven to sink back and feel the weight leave her aching bones. The cab smelled like old tobacco and dust, but it wasn't in an unpleasant type of way. Most folk wouldn't like the smell of a barn, but that was the smell of home to her. She settled her feet on the hump, keeping her knees out of the way of the gear shift and Marcus slammed the heavy door behind him. The guy put the truck into first and they pulled back onto the blacktop and they were off.

"No place to be, out in the dark and alone on the side of the road. There are some real nuts out there." Marcus didn't seem placated by the statement and shifted in his seat. No doubt he was sliding the knife out of his pocket so he could palm it and use it if he had to.

"Name's Grant," the guy said as he shifted gears. She kept her knees out of the way in case the guy tried to go for an 'accidental graze' but he promptly put his hands back up on the wheel.

"I'm David," Marcus said. "And this is Sarah." Jenna nodded at Grant and gave him a small smile. He didn't seem like a creep, but neither did Ted Bundy to those who knew him.

"Pleasure to meet you both. What are you kids doing out on the road and only heading north?"

"I don't really think…"

Jenna cut him off before he could tell the guy to buzz off and get them kicked out of the truck. Her gut was telling her this guy was okay and Marcus was being paranoid and protective. Normally, that was a good combination, but tonight it was unnecessary.

"We're going north to go stay with my aunt," she lied.

"What's wrong with staying with your parents?"

"They don't like me being with him." She nodded her head towards Marcus and grabbed his hand. "So we left home. My aunt said she'd take us in till we get on our feet." She was amazed how easily the lies formed in her mouth.

"Parents don't like you being with a black man?"

"No they don't." She tried to block out the echoes of her mom screaming at her to run… her garbling last breaths…

"I kinda figured that was the reason. Funny how hung up on that folk can be." Grant shifted into fourth and put his hands back up on the wheel. She wished Marcus would relax – the set of his shoulders would start to intimidate the guy soon.

"I don't understand it either." She dug her short fingernails into her palms to keep herself from bursting into tears.

"As far as I know, Jesus didn't stipulate skin color on the whole, 'God loves you' message."

"If he made us all, why would he care, right?" _Hang on Dad…_ Marcus had pleaded with his father…

"Amen, little sister. Amen."

She kept her fingernails pressed into her palms while she counted to ten and felt like she'd be able to keep it together. She pushed down the black ball of guilt in her gut that kicked her whenever her thoughts drifted to their dead family members. She couldn't let Marcus know – it would make him so angry. But it felt good to know she had read Grant right. The man wasn't a bad sort, just a guy in a rundown truck offering a ride to some kids stranded on the side of the road.

"There's some soda in that cooler at yer feet, David," Grant suggested. "Help yourselves." Marcus reached down to the small, beat up cooler and handed her a cola. It was a little warm, but appreciated all the same.

"Thanks."

"I remember when my daughter was your age," he mused. "She was a good girl. Miss her something fierce."

She paused mid-sip. "I'm sorry. What happened to her?"

"She got in a wreck. Spent four days in a coma before she passed on."

"I'm sorry. That must have been terrible."

"Damn near killed me. That's when I found Jesus. He helped me through it." Grant patted the bible on the dash and put his hands back on the wheel. "Haven't touched a drop since." She didn't know what to say to that so she took another drink of her cola instead. Would God and Jesus help her through the tough times ahead? She didn't think so. If they were up there, they had more pressing matters on their plates than Jenna Marsh. She realized that Grant had continued talking while she tuned him out so she tried to make some sort of noise when it seemed appropriate so he wouldn't know she had no idea what he'd said. It seemed like Grant just needed someone to talk to during the long drive. Probably helped him stay awake so she let him ramble on about being saved, the price of gas and the plight of the American farmer. She didn't add any of her personal experience to that last one and Marcus kept his mouth shut too. Grant seemed nice enough, but the less he knew about the two of them, the better.

After two hours on the road of Grant humming along to the classic country coming out of the old radio, it was nearly ten and Grant pulled over at a gas station to fill up. She and Marcus got out to stretch their legs and keep an eye on the guitar case in the back of the truck. They were both starving, but didn't want to squander the few bucks they had left for overpriced service station fare. Turned out they didn't have to. Grant came out of the building with a paper tray of coffee, and a plastic bag in his hands.

"Here you go, kids. Help yourselves."

"Grant, thank you, that's really nice of you." The small kindnesses he was showing them made her smile genuine instead of forced. Her stomach growled as the smell of the coffee hit her.

He waved a hand at her. "It's nothing. You both look hungry is all." There was a paper baggie of creamers and sugar packets in the fourth hole of the paper coffee tray, and the plastic bag had a bag of pretzels and a couple chocolate bars. A six pack of cola dangled from his other hand. "It's not a well rounded meal, but I think it will tide us over for the night."

The hot coffee went down well. It had been days since they'd had anything hot – just stolen cereal bars mostly and they had eaten the last of those that morning.

She was tired and fell asleep for a time. Marcus stayed awake to speak with Grant and keep him awake, but she woke up when the truck pulled over and Marcus and Grant changed seats. Grant leaned his head against the passenger window and was asleep within five minutes.

"Jenna-girl," he whispered when Grant started snoring. "Change the damn station, will you? I am sick of Hank Snow."

* * *

><p>Marcus drove for about four hours when the truck started making a coughing noise. It was minor at the start and blended in with the rest of the sounds the old girl made. But like all coughs, it got more insistent until Jenna was shaking Grant's elbow to wake him up less than a minute later. The guy sputtered a bit, "Huh? Wha? What is it?"<p>

"Grant, the truck is making a funny noise."

"Wha?"

"The truck, man," Marcus spoke louder than was necessary but Grant was having trouble pulling himself out of that sleep. "The truck is making a noise." He glanced down at the instrument panel and cursed, "Shit! She's overheating!"

"Pull over," Grant demanded and Marcus cut the wheel and pulled onto the gravel shoulder. Clouds were bubbling out from under the hood and the truck shuddered and heaved and died as Marcus pumped the clutch. They coasted the rest of the way off the road and Marcus jammed on the break, knocked it into neutral when it came to a stop and stood on the emergency break to keep the truck from rolling before piling out. Grant rolled out of his door, and she followed suit. The stench coming from the engine hit her and Grant popped the hood and jumped back as a thick cloud billowed out into the still, pre-dawn air.

It didn't bode well.

"Looks like the radiator is cracked," Marcus said after pulling his torso out from under the hood and taking the flashlight from between his clenched teeth.

"Well, hell!" Grant cursed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He sighed tiredly and said, "Any idea where we are, David?"

"I saw a sign not far back. We're about three miles out from Sioux Falls."

"I guess we'll have to walk and try and get a tow truck once we hit town."

There was no point in hanging around, so Marcus hefted the guitar case onto his shoulders and she winced a little as the clang of metal on metal rang softly. Grant was too busy cursing the truck and digging his soda out from under the front seat to notice so she breathed a little easier.

Her legs hadn't had enough time to rest properly and her feet dragged as they walked. It wasn't as if she hadn't put a million miles on her sneakers in the past eight days, but it was catching up on her now and she honestly felt like sitting down on the side of the road and going to sleep for a day or two. There wasn't a part of her that wasn't sore and tired. At least it was a nice night out.

The distance dragged on, and they only saw one car pass by them that just sped on past as Grant stuck his thumb out. She didn't figure that they would get picked up and she was resigned to walk the whole way. It was like seeing the pearly gates of heaven when they finally got their asses into an all night diner a little over an hour later. It was five-thirty AM, so the place was pretty empty. Just a trucker, an insomniac and a waitress who looked as tired as she felt.

She and Marcus sank into a booth while Grant went up to the counter to talk to the waitress about getting a phone book to call a tow truck. She seemed to take pity on the old guy and told him there were a few tow trucks in town, but only one salvage yard which might have the used parts he was looking for. "If ole Bobby is even around. He takes off for days on end sometimes," she complained. "Don't ask me how he keeps his business going, but who am I to say?"

Grant went to the phone at the end of the counter with his phone book and a moment later the waitress was at their booth about to pour coffee into mugs for them.

"We don't have any money," Marcus told her, covering his mug with a dark hand.

"And believe me… I can tell," she rolled her eyes and swatted his hand out of the way and poured the mug full. "It's old. Don't worry about it." Jenna didn't doubt the creamers weren't at their freshest either, but who was she to complain about free coffee? She had already taken a good sized gulp when the lady came back and put a plate with a stack of toast and a couple muffins in front of them. "Don't bother, they're stale," she waved Marcus down when he opened his mouth to protest. "I wouldn't let a dog starve in the street either." The second she walked away they dug into the food. The toast was warm and buttery, there were jam packets in a bowl on the scarred Formica; and the muffins were only slightly dry, nothing that a good dose of butter and jam couldn't fix. It felt so good to be eating something that didn't come out of a box or bag.

Grant came over a few minutes later. "Hey, kids. Tow truck driver said he'd be about an hour before he comes to pick me up and takes be back to the truck. Are you two riding north with me when the old girl gets fixed, or are you going off on your own?"

"I think we'll make our own way, Grant," Marcus smiled and stuck out his hand. "But thanks for everything you've done for us. Really appreciate it, man."

"Yeah, Grant," she added. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have made it this far so soon."

"It's nothing, kids. Hope things work out for you at your aunt's." He waved as he turned and went back to the counter to get himself something to eat.

She looked across the table to Marcus, unsure of what to do right now. They were in the neighboring State, but now they had to get the rest of the way and then find Greasy-Vest and Dark-Hair. Perhaps they'd be able to go to the DMV in Bismarck and see if they could look up an address for that plate number. She certainly didn't want to do any more walking right now and the battered booth seats felt like lazy-boy recliners on her sore bones.

"If you two would like to earn a little extra cash," the waitress called to them from the counter, "I have a few chores that could be done."

Marcus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The guy hadn't slept in more than thirty hours, but a resigned look crossed his tired face. The chance to earn a few bucks was the carrot on the stick that they both needed.

"Whatcha got?"

* * *

><p>She was up to her elbows in dish water as she pulled the sink plug. A stack of newly cleaned pots, pans and utensils lay across the stainless steel counter and she wiped her forehead with her arm. She glanced over to the guitar case which Marcus had left with her while he went to empty garbage bins and scrub the floors. She still had to go clean the giant front windows…<p>

He ducked his head into the kitchen and hissed, "Psst! Jenna! Get out here and check this out!" The look in his eyes was something she hadn't seen since before this whole nightmare started and she grabbed the guitar case and hustled back out front. Marcus was looking out the front window at the tow truck and the driver of the truck talking to Grant on the sidewalk.

"You have got to be shitting me," she breathed, not believing what she was seeing. Sure, it wasn't dark out anymore, and she could see the guy in the light of day, and this certainly wasn't the truck that came bounding up her driveway with guns blazing and zombies heads exploding all around them… but she recognized that hat and vest. She recognized that beard, and she definitely remembered the set of those shoulders.

"Singer Salvage…" she whispered. "I'll be goddamned."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Big thanks to Kripke for sharing his world with us.

Chapter 5

There was no real rush to get out of the diner once they knew where to find their man. So they stayed and did some more small jobs for the waitress who turned out to own the place with her husband, and was only working the graveyard shift because the regular guy called in sick. She gave them each twenty bucks and had her husband fry them up a giant breakfast once he got in. She could have quite happily curled up in a corner of the kitchen and went to sleep for a few days. The no-nonsense waitress probably would have let them but they didn't want to impinge on their generosity.

They stayed in town for the rest of the day and decided to go out to meet Mr. Singer in the morning because they were sure that Grant would be gone by then and they didn't want to run into him again and explain to him why they suddenly weren't going to live with her aunt anymore. They had the address for the salvage yard torn out of the Yellow Pages and it was twelve miles out of town down a country road. A long walk, but they were used to it by now and being better rested and fed made a huge difference. A giant metal gate over the end of the driveway ensured that they didn't miss the place.

It wasn't long before they saw stacks of cars lining the driveway, pieces of metal leaning against car carcasses, tires stacked and lined up according to size… and the line of a roof peeking through the metal jungle. They rounded the last turn and were faced with the tow truck and the beat up jalopy that had last been seen bounding down her rutted driveway in Louisiana – complete with her North Dakota license plates. A large Rottweiler glared at them from his guard station chained to the porch railing. It gave them a low growl and started barking in earnest the second Marcus took another step towards the porch. The front door flew open a second later and it was almost comical the way her eyes locked with the older man's, and his mouth hung open for a minute before snapping shut and stepping back into the house, slamming the door behind him.

Marcus ran to the far end of the porch, far out of the straining dog's reach, and vaulted up onto the porch, climbing over the railing and leaning back over to offer a hand to her, cuz she sure as hell wasn't about to let a slammed door and a barking dog keep her away after they'd just crossed the freaking country. She scrambled over the railing and both started beating their palms against the windows and calling out, "Mr. Singer!" Neither of them dared go to the door because the dog's chain could reach that far.

"Mr. Singer!" she called as she slapped at the window. "Mr. Singer! We need to talk to you!"

The front door swung open and the guy in the familiar greasy vest was standing there, pointing a shotgun at the pair of them. "I don't know how you found me," he growled, slowly swinging the barrel from her to Marcus and back again, "but you better forget how you got here – pronto. Now get the hell off my porch."

Marcus took a step towards the gun and the Rottie, Singer swung the gun fully onto the tall black man's chest, but that didn't stop him. The guy had nerves of steel sometimes. He would have been great in the Marines…

"Put the gun down, Mister. You ain't gonna shoot me."

"Don't be so sure of that, Kid."

"You saved us from those zombies two weeks ago. Why shoot us now?"

"Cuz you hadn't tracked me down to my front door then, Junior." Singer fixed him with a singularly frightening glare. "Now get off my porch. Go home."

"We can't go home, Mr. Singer," she piped up, coming to stand next to Marcus so that he wasn't facing down the gun all on his own. "The authorities are fixing to blame the whole thing on us. We go home, we go to death row or jail for the rest of our lives for something we didn't do."

"We ain't leaving 'til you tell us what we wanna know, Singer." Marcus tipped his head back in defiance.

"Suit yerself," the tow truck driver growled, lowering the gun and stalking back into the house. The door slammed and the lock turned and there was nothing but the insistent barking of the Rottie to fill the air.

* * *

><p>They camped out in a shelled out minivan behind the garage. There was nothing soft to sleep on as the seats and had all been taken out, but the floor was carpeted and relatively clean, and it was water-tight which was good when it started to lightly rain that night. It was cold, but they were dry. At least they could lie down and keep close for warmth. The next morning Marcus set up a couple snares with wire he filched from the garage and actually lucked into catching a hare. Her dad had brought home small game enough that she was used to skinning and gutting an animal. She didn't like it, but she could do it. Besides, being hungry makes you swallow back the things you're normally squeamish about.<p>

They roasted the rabbit strips over a fire she built outside the minivan. She insolently took wood from Singer's wood pile and gave him a little wave from where he watched from the other side of the window. After they ate their fill, they took a portion up to the dog who hadn't stopped barking since yesterday. The dog knew they were still around, and wasn't about to slip in his duty to his master to let him know that the intruders were still out there. The Rottie knew they were carrying meat – he could smell it on the breeze. Marcus held out the scrap for the dog to see and tossed it at its big feet. The strip of meat disappeared instantly and Marcus held out another strip. The giant dog tilted his head to follow the meat, but stopped barking. Marcus broke off a chunk and tossed it to the dog as a reward. Then he did the stupidest thing, and sank onto the grass just outside the dog's tether and started chewing on a piece of rabbit. He patted the spot next to him and she reluctantly sat next to him. Marcus took a piece of meat from his mouth and tossed it at the dog. The animal didn't seem to know what to make of the situation, and sat in the dirt as close to them as possible. He kept an eye on them, but he had stopped barking and was watching the meat in the ex-marine recruit's hands. Marcus idly tossed the dog crumb after crumb, never moving closer or farther away. Once all the meat was gone, he lay back in the grass with his hands behind his head and took a nap! She didn't dare move because the dog was watching her, and when she lay down in the sun next to Marcus, the dog laid down too. She remembered the Wells family having a nasty dog for a time when she was younger. She had been scared of it and the damn thing knew it. That must be where Marcus learned to deal with the animals because he seemed to be reading this one like a book.

When they awoke to the setting sun and a cooling breeze, the dog stirred, and she glanced up to the front window to see the curtain falling back into place. The Rottie didn't bark at them as they stood and made their way back to the minivan. She considered it progress. At least tonight, there wouldn't be insistent barking serenading them to sleep as there was the night before.

* * *

><p>It was another two days when a black GMC truck roared up the driveway, kicking up dust and gravel as it sped past them. The driver glared at them, and she recognized Dark-hair. They ran up the driveway after him, but were too far back when he got out of the cab, a shotgun held loosely in his hands as he sprang up the porch steps while snapping at the barking dog to shut up. She grabbed Marcus's hand to keep him from running up to the man with a shotgun as he beat on the door with a heavy fist. It opened a second later and Dark-hair disappeared into Singer's house.<p>

Both of them were tired and hungry, and sick of waiting outside while Singer barricaded himself in his own house like some bunker-building, apocalypse-preaching nut-job. So the pair of them defiantly sat on the truck's bumper and waited for the men to come out. She was terrified these hard and dangerous men would just kill the pair of them and bury their bodies in the back forty never to be thought of again. It wasn't as if anyone knew where they were. So she spent the next half hour reasoning with herself that men who risked their lives to save strangers from monsters and demons, weren't about to slit their throats and bury them next to the septic tank. While she was a frantic mess inside, Marcus leaned against the truck's grill and let the late summer sun warm his dark skin. He was the picture of patient serenity and she wanted to backhand him in the chest for it.

The front door swung open suddenly and she and Marcus sprang to their feet as Singer and the new arrival strode across the gravel yard towards them. Though she was no expert, she thought she detected a military air about the man. Something about the way he walked and held himself… Marcus had the same look when he came back from boot camp.

Dark-hair fixed them with a steely gaze that made her stomach flutter and asked, "How did you track us down?"

"North Dakota license plates on the truck, Sir." Marcus stood tall as he answered, and she couldn't help picturing him in greens and addressing his sergeant.

"This ain't North Dakota, Son," Dark-hair growled.

"No Sir. We were hitching north and Mr. Singer picked up a man yesterday from in front of Farrell's Diner. We saw him and recognized him."

"So it was nothing but dumb luck that you found me?" Singer grunted.

"That's right."

Singer gritted his teeth and glared off into the distance. "Well I'll be goddamned."

"Go home kids." Dark-hair pointed a hand in the direction of the road as if he were waving them off.

"We can't, Sir. We'll be locked up and tried for what happened. You know it as well as we do."

"Then don't go home. Just leave here and don't come back."

"We can't do that either, Sir. That demon that killed our families is still out there. You said so yourself."

"And you think that a couple of kids can go on a revenge mission?" Singer said this levelly, but she detected something underneath the question. Dark-hair's eye twitched ever so slightly and you could have thought it was from the glint of the sun or something, but she didn't believe that. There was something behind that flippant comment. Something between the two men that was a bone of contention of some sort – she'd bet money on it.

"What else can we do?" Marcus replied.

Dark-hair sighed and scrubbed his face with his palm. "Look… You look like nice kids. Don't get mixed up with this shit. It'll kill you."

"We can't do that."

"Sure you can. You go off together, you change your names, you get jobs. You have some kids someday and you forget about all of this."

Her anger was bubbling up by this point. How dare this asshole try to tell her to forget it all and go live some ignorant life? "Excuse me?" she bit out. "You think I can just forget the scream my mom let out when that bastard bit into her? You think I can forget her screaming at me to run?" Her hands were shaking with anger and she couldn't stop herself from walking up to him to point a finger in his face, shotgun-be-damned. "Do you honestly think I'll forget that zombie swinging my dad's severed arm, or that Marcus will forget his dad dying in his arms? You sonofabitch! You came in there too late with guns blazing and then just left us there for the authorities to chew on!"

Marcus pulled on her arm to drag her back from the dark-haired hunter who was looking at her like he wanted to tear a strip off her hide but she didn't care. Her family was dead. Marcus could never go home. They were alone and afraid and had no where to go and nothing to do but let the guilt and dreams of vengeance bubble up and eat them away. She ripped her arm out of his grip and turned on Dark-hair. "You're not going to see the end of us unless you tell us what we need to know, or you kill us."

"That second option is starting to sound pretty good, little girl," he snarled at her, eyes narrow and menacing.

"Then do it and get it over with. Maybe I'll come back as a ghost and haunt your ass until doomsday."

"There are ways to keep a spirit from coming back, Kid."

"Really?" she asked cheerily. "What ways would that be?"

Singer reached out and grabbed his friend's elbow before he could reach out and grab her. He sure looked like he wanted to wring her neck. Guess he didn't like being talked back to. The 'kids with a vengeance mission' line came back to her and she wondered if these dangerous men had dangerous kids of their own.

"John," Singer grunted, "Let's go in and have a talk."

"Back off, Bobby. You called me here."

So his name is John, is it? she mused. John and Bobby – how very common names.

"Let's take a walk, John. Cool off a bit."

John gave them both a scathing look before turning on his heel and striding up the stairs and into the house. Bobby was right behind him and shut the door so that there was no question as to whether or not they were invited in. She and Marcus went back to sitting on the front bumper of the truck to await the hunters return.

* * *

><p>"You've got to be kidding me! Have you lost your mind, Bobby?" John thundered at him.<p>

"Some would argue that there wasn't much of a mind to start with," he mused, pouring a couple fingers of whiskey into glasses for the pair of them. Seeing those kids show up on his property had rattled him. He had thought he'd been slipping, but it was only dumb luck that they'd found him. Of course, he wasn't one to believe in coincidence too much, but what else could it have been? Demons destroying Grant's cooling system? The truck that guy had been driving was a miracle in itself that it was even able to make it to the corner store, let alone cross the state.

"Don't start with me about that. You're as quick as you ever were." An almost compliment coming out of John Winchester's mouth was a rare thing indeed. Maybe he should go write it down in his diary, he thought snidely.

"All I'm sayin is," he took a long pull off the glass and winced as it burned its way down his gullet, "…is that we were all in that boat at one time that those kids are in now." John grunted in derision and emptied his glass in one gulp, helping himself to the bottle for another round. "We all had help. I had Rufus to show me the ropes. You had Missouri and Pastor Jim. And that little girl was right," he pointed his glass at his friend's chest. "We did leave them to the sharks. You know they're wanted now for the killing of their parents? Their local sheriff – who's trying to get himself re-elected by the way – has got a real hard-on to find those kids and pin this on them. Turning Louisiana over to find 'em. The boy's Ma was pulled in and held for questioning. The story cooking now is that the girl's daddy caught them in the act, tried to kill the boy, boy's daddy came running, cross-fire going everywhere… No mention of cannibalistic carcasses littering the ground with exploded heads. They're burying it. Those kids are as good as fried if we don't help 'em."

"They can't be hunters, Bobby. They just can't."

"Why not?"

"Well, the boy might do fine. Big kid… looks tough. Boot camp in him if I'm not mistaken…"

"Yer not. So the boy but not the girl?"

"Definitely not the girl."

"Still don't think women should hunt?" He was poking a bear with a stick on this topic, but sometimes John needed reminders of his history lessons. "Cuz I know a coupla lady hunters that would love to fill your ass with buck-shot for thinking so. Nadine Campbell for one of 'em. Heard her daughter Gwen is quite the pistol herself…"

John's eyes narrowed to slits. "I don't want to talk about them."

"Or how about Mary's other cousin, Daphne?" _poke poke_. "You know… I heard she took down a succubus all by herself? That girl is every bit the looker Mary was… way I heard it anyways."

John's glass fell to the floor and shattered as John fisted his hands in his vest. "You promised me you wouldn't talk about Mary's family."

"I promised I wouldn't tell the boys," he corrected, keeping his temper in check by not head butting his friend and shooting him in the leg for being an idjit. "You can keep the boys away from other hunters for as long as you can, but eventually they're gonna find out about their mama's roots."

"Not if I can help it," John growled, letting go of his front and swinging the bottle off the desk and up to his lips. He knew John was touchy about Mary's past and how she kept it from him, but he felt that John should tell the boys about their mother's family – they were old enough to know. They were bound to find out someday and resent John for hiding it from them. Sam especially. That kid didn't need a special reason to hate his daddy. Dean on the other hand thought the sun shone outta his daddy's ass… To find out his father had hid something so monumental from them would tear the kid apart; and Dean had enough tiny holes in his cocky armor he was trying to keep anyone from seeing.

"The girl's too small," John grunted, going back to the subject at hand and dismissing the former line of conversation. "She should change her name and go to school."

_What the hell_, he thought. _Poke, poke_. "Like Sam should go to school?" he tossed.

For once, John didn't take the bait. "Sammy's still thinking about leaving and going to Stanford for the new semester. He got a scholarship."

"You should let 'im go."

John blew the dust out of an abandoned cup on the desk and poured a third glass of whiskey for himself. "I need to keep the boys close and keep an eye on them."

Bobby shook his head and took the bottle from his friend. The last thing John needed right now was to get hammered. "Then let Dean go with him. They spend all their time together anyway – why not let 'em spend it in California?"

"Those kids are all I've got left, Bobby."

"And you're gonna lose 'em if you keep this up. Sam don't wanna be a hunter. Let him do his own thing or lose him forever."

"When did you become the expert, Donahue?" John sneered coldly, tossing back his drink.

Bobby rolled his eyes at the outdated insult. "Yer not the only one that loves those boys, ya idjit."

"It's my job to protect them."

"When you're there. Otherwise you leave it to Dean – he's been doing it since he was six after all. He can just as easily watch Sam in California and you can keep doing whatever you're doing three states away at any given time." _Poke poke_. "Look, the point of the matter is that those two stupid kids outside are gonna get themselves killed if we don't give 'em some idea of what's out there. So we either give 'em a head's up or you can shoot 'em and bury 'em yourself."

John grumbled incoherently as he snatched back the bottle and headed for the basement stairs, slamming the door behind him in anger. A moment later, the ringing of metal on metal pealed though the house as John started working on the panic room they were building secretly in the basement.

* * *

><p>They had been waiting outside for half an hour when the front door opened and Bobby came outside. He was carrying a stack of books in his arms and walked straight up to them. He dumped the books into her arms and said, "Read those." He turned and went back inside, slamming the door behind him yet again. Clearly, he was telling them they were being tolerated on the property but not invited inside. <em>Fair enough<em>, she thought, feeling the mass of the big books weighing down her arms. The books smelled old and musty, and there were layers of dust on some of them older than she was. She flipped open the cover on the top book and gasped as the image of a creature wreathed in smoke and dripping blood from fangs and talons greeted her.

Marcus peered over her shoulder and let out a whistle. "Creepy, huh?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Creepy." She turned to a page at random, and although the text was in a language she didn't know, the English translation was penned in beneath the ancient type-set. "Kobalos," she read, "mischievous gnome-dwarves, Greek in origin. Also derived as goblin in English folk-lore. Tricksters, impudent and thieving." She scrunched her nose at the engorged phallus on the thing. "Huh. Goblins are real."

Marcus took some of the books out of her arms and started walking for the minivan. "Come on. Let's start reading."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Big thanks to Kripke for sharing his world with us.

Chapter 6

The next morning John and Bobby were standing outside the minivan bright and early. "Wakey, wakey!" John called, rapping the end of his shotgun on the side window. Both of them jerked upright and she was glad that it was cold enough at night that they slept in their clothes. Marcus threw back the side door panel and leapt out with her hot on his heels.

"Okay, Kids," John smiled at them but there was no warmth in his eyes. "Here's how it's gonna be. Bobby and I are going to give you a crash course in hunting. We are gonna run you ragged and you're gonna like it. We are gonna grill you night and day, and kick you black and blue while we're doing it. You are gonna learn weaponry, lore, hand-to-hand tactics..." He glared at her at that part and she just knew he was going to kick the shit outta her. "You're gonna learn what stops what creatures because they all have their weaknesses." He was pacing in front of them and she couldn't help but think of a drill sergeant addressing his squad. Marcus looked like he was standing at attention, so she stood as tall as she was able and bit the fear and excitement down. They were going to be taught! "And with any luck," he continued on, "you won't be killed the first job you take."

John stopped in front of Marcus with his last words, and giving the guy a cold smile, punched him in the gut, doubling him over.

She leapt at John, screaming out "Bastard!" as she did it. He was ready for her though. He must have known she'd come to her man's defense and he hooked an arm around her shoulders, flipping her and she landed heavily on the ground, flat on her back. The air whooshed out of her lungs and everything went white for a moment as she struggled to draw air into lungs that wouldn't inflate.

"Rule number one," he intoned gravely, "Never attack out of anger."

* * *

><p>True to their word, within four days, both she and Marcus were black and blue. Well, Marcus was joking that he was already black and was therefore only blue, but that was beside the point. There wasn't an inch of her that wasn't sore. She was sporting a rather impressive black eye that John had given her, and Marcus had been ready to try and rip the experienced hunter's head off, but she grabbed him and held him back. This was what they had come here for. She knew that no monster would take it easy on her because of her small size, and even though John was very keen to point that fact out to her, she wasn't going to let him bully her out of this. She might not be the best fighter… or much of a fighter for that matter, but she was good with the lore books and she was good with the weapons training. Bobby took care of the lore and half the weapon's training, while John did the other half and took it upon himself to kick the shit out of them every few hours for '<em>Training Purposes'<em>. She found both she and Marcus responded better to Bobby's tough old boot persona better than John's foot up your ass mantra.

The pair of them limped out from the training area John had designated in the back of the house. There were a bunch of old oak and elm trees back there and it would have been a pretty spot if it weren't for the regular beatings she was getting there. Marcus was fuming about how rough John had been on her again, but she shrugged it off. "He's trying to scare us away," she'd said for the tenth time. "It's not gonna work. Short of him killing me, I'm not running."

Marcus shook his head in defeat and draped an arm around her shoulders. "That's my girl. Tough as nails."

"Look," she said, "Come back there with me in a bit and help me practice."

So they went back to the training ground and she sparred with Marcus. Needless to say, he wasn't kicking her ass all over the yard, but she insisted he push her as hard as he could so that she could learn. The problem was that she was so small, even though she was strong for her size from living her whole life on a farm, she didn't have enough weight behind her punches to hurt big guys like Marcus and John. She had a good kick though if she managed to find a target within boot striking distance. While they were fighting, they ended up near the edge of the cleared yard and she fell sideways to avoid a blow from Marcus. She landed on something hard underneath all the layers of old and decaying leaves from the surrounding trees and she let out a hiss of pain.

"You okay, Jenna-girl?"

She held her palm to her ribs and winced as she sat back up. "I'll be fine. I just landed on something." She pushed the leaves around and found an old rake handle buried in the leaf mould. It was weathered, and likely been left out here for months, if not since last fall, but the handle was made of hardened ash and was as resilient as it was before it had been discarded in the leaf piles. An idea came to her then to get a little even with John Winchester. She understood what he was doing to her and why, but he didn't have to look so satisfied with himself every time she went limping off the field.

"I'm gonna leave this here," she muttered, covering the handle with leaves again and getting to her feet. "Tomorrow during training, I want you to stand under that tree there." She pointed to a sturdy oak with branches high off the ground. "Stay under there no matter what, and get ready to give me a boost when I come running."

"What are you fixing to do, Jenna?" A slow smile curved up the corners of his mouth when she looked up at him and grinned.

"Fight back a little better than I have been, that's what."

* * *

><p>"<em>When ya coming home, Dad?<em>" Dean's voice came through the speaker pressed to his ear.

_Sounds like that old song_, John thought to himself.

"Another couple days, I think. I'm not sure but I hope to be done here by then." He pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered yet again how he got roped into this mess of training those kids outside.

"_What kind of job are you working? You never even said where you are._"

"I can't do that kid. It's something I want to keep to myself for now."

"_You'd never let me get away with that._"

"You're not the vet hunter."

"_Then when can I work a job on my own?_"

_Not this again_, he grimaced. He taught his kids how to handle themselves no matter what the situation, still didn't mean he wanted to toss them in front of a fugly all on their own.

"That's too dangerous, Dean. I don't want you hunting something without proper back up."

"_Sam can watch my back._"

_This just gets better and better. _"Where is Sammy? I don't hear him in the background."

"_Awww, he's emo- pissed about something as usual. Won't tell me what though. Just keeps his earphones in his ears and ignores me._"

John knew what it was. Sam and his acceptance letter to Stanford in California. Sam had kept it hidden from them all and he had only found out by going through the kid's things. In another lifetime, he would've been ashamed to spy on his own kid. In this life, it was paramount to survival. It really said something that Sam had kept something like a scholarship to college in California a secret from his brother. He knew the kid wanted out – wanted it bad – and he knew that Sam wouldn't be sticking around to butt heads with him for much longer. He let Bobby's words circle round his head for a moment of letting Dean go to Palo Alto with Sam to keep an eye on him. It was logical, and would be the best thing for both his boys. He just couldn't do it. He was their father and he had to protect them and keep on the move so that the monsters they hunted didn't track them down. That was the way they lived their lives and it had kept them all alive this far. Why couldn't those stupid kids outside see that this was not a choice to make?

"…_Dad?_"

He'd drifted off and missed what Dean had said. "What was that, dude?"

"_I_ _said that we're running low on cash. I'm gonna hit the pool tables tonight._"

"Sounds good. Just don't get caught hustling again."

A hint of indignations entered Dean's voice. "_I had that guy down_."

"Yeah, but his buddy almost bashed your brains in with that bar stool."

"_Aww… I saw him coming a mile away. Drunk and slow. I coulda had another beer by the time he got to me._"

John rolled his eyes and shook his head. There was no lack of confidence in his eldest boy. "Just play it more careful this time. Remember, win the first by a little, lose the next, and the last one is double or nothing."

"_I got it, Dad._" He could just see Dean rolling his eyes in exasperation. "_I'm not a rookie ya know._"

"Don't be out too late, and keep an eye on your brother."

"_Yessir._"

"And call me if anything happens."

"_Geez, Dad, I'm not a twelve year old babysitter._"

"Call me."

"_Sure, sure. Look, I gotta run – I promised the hot girl down the road I'd look at her engine for her. Hell, I might even check the funny noise her car's making too._"

_Where does he get that from?_ he wondered. The boy couldn't walk a dozen steps without trying to hit on anything in a skirt. It was a miracle he wasn't a grandfather yet. The thought made a shiver run down his spine and he pushed it away.

"I'll call you later and let you know if my plans change. Stay outta trouble."

"_Bye, Dad._" And the line went dead.

He hung his head for a minute to put his thoughts in order. He brought his own kids into this mess, and no matter what Bobby said, he didn't regret it. His boys were fighters and could handle themselves and that was because he'd taught them everything he could and pushed them hard. Those two outside had no idea what they were in for if they stayed on this path. That little girl would be dead the first five minutes on a hunt for anything more dangerous than rat's nest and he wasn't about to let that rest on his shoulders. He'd been pushing her hard the last few days, now it was time he got brutal. She was stubborn, and so was he – but he was a sonofabitch to boot. If he had to put her in a coma to make her see that she didn't belong here, then he'd drop her unconscious ass off at the hospital himself.

* * *

><p>It was a nice morning. Clear and bright and the sky was the color blue you only see when September rolls around. There was a crispness in the air and the faint smell of burning wood, as if someone had lit a fire a few miles away to take the chill off the morning air. Likely it was only someone burning leaves and brush, but it was nicer to think of some old man starting up a wood stove to heat his morning coffee.<p>

She tried to keep the butterflies down as John was glaring at her through the bright, sun dappled training field. He looked like he'd had a bad night, and Bobby didn't look too much better. They might have had a fight about something – for friends, they seemed to have quite a bit of animosity between them.

John was circling in closer to her, the darkness in his eyes giving away nothing. She knew she was in for it today – she could just see it in the set of his shoulders as he moved, and the way he watched her as she crouched slightly, standing on the balls of her feet and ready to move. He didn't want her here. She knew that as plain as she knew her own name. She also knew that he was dead set on proving that she didn't belong in this world of his. She didn't belong here; she knew that herself as plainly as her own name as well. It didn't change the fact that she was here regardless. It didn't change the fact that there was a large and gaping hole in her soul that echoed with the sounds of her mother screaming at her to run, or her gurgling last breaths. It didn't erase the image of Mr. Wells' feet shuddering as he bled to death as he struggled to hold on to life. She didn't belong here, but here she was and she wasn't about to be scared off by some grouchy old man that didn't know her from a hole in the wall. So when John got close enough to throw a kick at her, she was able to dart away. He almost smiled at her for it, just the world's smallest quirk at the corner of his mouth, and then it was gone and the only thing left was the fist sailing for her chin. She ducked, but John was fast and experienced, and he had his other fist already coming for her and caught her in the side. She let out a loud 'oomph' and doubled over slightly, and that slight advantage was all old John needed to put the boots to her.

Even through all the pain of the blows he was landing on her, she never once thought that John enjoyed hurting her. She never got that masochistic vibe off him, and she was good at reading people. So while a boot caught her in the thigh and she stumbled to the ground, she was able to keep her head because she knew that John was doing this in his own bastard way of trying to protect her. It was messed up in the extreme, but so were the circumstances of trying to learn how to hunt monsters.

But she was no quitter and she had nowhere else to go. So John could kick her ass all he wanted – she was staying.

Her head was swimming with the pain of it. There wasn't an inch of her that wasn't on fire as John beat the snot outta her. She managed to get a few blows in herself, but they both knew she didn't have enough behind it to do any real damage to the guy. She could hear Bobby and Marcus vehemently protesting from under the trees, but John paid no attention to them. He had a lesson to give and he meant to give it to her properly.

He gave her a nasty kick to the back that sent her sprawling face first into the leaves. She tried to struggle to her knees but John kicked her in the side and everything went white for a minute. Again she struggled to her knees so that she could crawl towards where her rake handle was hidden but John grabbed her by the waist of her jeans and hauled her up off the ground and threw her. She landed heavily and her shoulder took an awful knock that brought tears to her eyes.

"You gonna give up and cry, little girl?" The sneering and mocking voice surrounded her as he closed in on her. She dug deep through the agony and struggled to her knees again. If she could get to that rake handle, she'd stand a better shot against the pissed off hunter. Another kick to the side knocked the wind out of her. "Well?" he demanded. "You gonna give up?"

"No!" she wheezed, trying to keep conscious because he would just keep trying to scare her off if she fainted and she had to show she had what it took to keep going instead of giving up.

"No?" he growled. "No? Are you that stupid?" He kicked her again and she managed to crawl another step towards her rake. "You're not made for this life!" _Kick_. "Get out while you can before you get yourself killed!" _Kick_.

She was almost there. The tears were making everything blurry but she knew it was only another foot away. It was amazing how much such a little goal could keep her moving.

"Get out now!" _Kick_.

_Almost there!_

"Give up!" he bellowed, kicking her so that she went face first into the leaves.

"No," she panted, trying to get her fingers around that hidden handle only inches away.

"Stupid little piece of…" he cursed, leaning down to grab her by the hair and pull her head back so that he could snarl in her ear. "I'm going to make you understand just why you don't belong here."

He shoved her face forward and lurched to his feet, leaning down again to grab her around the waist but she had her hand on the handle and a whole new life surged into her as her fingers wrapped around sturdy ash and she rolled over despite the pain and whipped the end of the handle right across John's stubbled jaw, screaming "NO!"

John's head snapped to the side with the force, spit flying and catching the morning sunlight through the canopy above. She rolled with her momentum and jumped to her feet, grabbing the rake handle with both hands and swinging with her entire weight, cracked John across the jaw again. Then she dropped the weapon and ran like hell for Marcus and Bobby, still under the tree where she told him to stand and smiling like he'd just won the lottery. She wasn't smiling though – she had a bear on her ass and she had to get her butt up that tree before he got his hands on her. If he was being gentle earlier… he certainly wouldn't be now.

She barely noticed the stunned look on Bobby's face as she leapt into Marcus's stirrup hands and he nearly catapulted her into the bottommost branches of the tree, scaling the limbs like a chimp and getting as high up as she could. Her heart racing and the adrenaline pumping dulled the searing pain all over her body and when she got as high as she dared, she sank against the trunk and hugged it to keep from keeling over and falling back to earth.

"You get down here you little brat!" John was pacing at the bottom, holding his jaw in his hand and she could see the red in his eyes from the blood pressure built up in his skull at being cold-cocked by a little girl. She didn't answer him though, just sagged against the rough bark of the trunk and closed her eyes to will the stars away.

Marcus and Bobby were laughing their asses off at John screaming for the chainsaw to cut the damn tree down, and Bobby just laughed all the harder, holding his gut and bending forward to try and get some air into his lungs. John grabbed Marcus by the throat, but the older hunter wasn't in his best form at the moment, and Marcus was able to get out of the hold. Her man had always been better against their trainer than she was anyway, so she wasn't too worried for his safety. Besides, Bobby was down there with him and she was confident that Bobby would keep John off his ass. She just stayed up there all day, letting the pain pulse through her with her heartbeat and waiting for it to subside a little.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry for the erratic posting schedule guys. On the bright side, there isn't too much left to this little fic-let.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Big thanks to Kripke for sharing his world with us.

Chapter 7

His jaw hurt like a sonofabitch and he'd been kneading it with his knuckles and nursing a bottle of Jack to dull the pain. His head was thick with liquor and he was still more than irate with the little brat that caused the whole thing. He didn't have a real plan to get even; he would just make "training" ten times worse. That girl didn't belong here and he was gonna make her understand why. That little stunt this morning just brought out the bear in him.

His phone ringing in his pocket pulled him out of his fog. Dean's number came up on the screen and he was instantly more alert. Dean was supposed to be out running the pool tables tonight earning a little cash – what happened that he was calling when he was supposed to be hustling?

"Dean?" he said by way of greeting when he flipped the phone on.

"_Dad?_" Dean sounded pissed and slightly frantic. A combination he'd seldom heard from his eldest.

"Dean, what is it?"

"_It's Sam, Dad!_"

John sat up straighter and clutched the phone tightly. Dear God, what had happened? "What happened?" he demanded.

"_Sam's leaving, Dad! You gotta get home right now!_"

"Whaddya mean he's leaving?"

"_I found him on his bed reading a letter. He tried to hide it but I snatched it cuz something was really wrong with him. It's for a school in California! He said he's leaving tomorrow!_"

"What?"

"_He's leaving tomorrow! Dad, you gotta get home right now!_"

"I'm on my way – don't let him leave. Knock him out and tie him to a chair if you have to!" Fuck, Sam was actually leaving. He never thought the kid actually had it in him to go. He certainly didn't think he had it in him to leave Dean behind. This would kill Dean. Dean _breathed_ for that kid.

"_How soon can you be here?_" The boy sounded like he was about to lose his mind and the panic wasn't that far away in himself either.

"I'm at Bobby's. I'll drive all night. I'll be there by morning. Don't let him leave!" He flipped his phone shut and held it together long enough to stop himself from throwing the damn thing against the wall. His raised voice had drawn Bobby up from the basement and his friend looked at him with what passed for a concerned look on the man's grizzled face.

"What happened?" Bobby grunted, rubbing grime off a wrench with a stained rag.

"Sam's leaving for that school in California. I gotta get home."

The scrap dealer shrugged nonchalantly. "Or you could let him go."

"We are not having this discussion again!" he snarled through gritted teeth, scanning the room for any of his belongings. His journal was in the truck but he'd left an obsidian knife around here somewhere...

"I don't remember it bein a discussion the first time. I remember me trying to talk sense to you, and as usual, it bounced off."

"Sam can't go to California!"

"He will if he wants too and you can't stop 'im. He's a lot like you in that regard... poor kid."

He rounded on his old friend. "Shut up. Bobby. Just shut up! No one asked you and I know what's best for my boys!"

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you. You shoulda never dragged those boys inta this and this is what happens when you don't listen. Sam don't wanna hunt! Let him go to school and be normal you damned fool!" The mechanic had tossed the stained rag onto a shelf and was holding the wrench like he desperately wanted to bean him on the head with it. But he could only hear the panic in Dean's voice ringing though his ears at the thought of Sammy leaving so he pushed his way past the other hunter with his only concern to get to his truck and break every speeding law between there and here.

Bobby put his hands against his chest and shoved him back. "Yer drunk and pissed off. You ain't leaving here tonight!"

"Get outta my way, Bobby," he growled, balling his fist up at his side.

The mechanic doggedly crossed his arms over his chest. "No."

John let his fist fly at his friend but Bobby saw it a mile away. He ducked to the side and seized his wrist, trussing him up with his own arm around his chest.

All John could smell was the scent of sour whiskey next to his ear. "Yer drunk, John. That girl didn't bust yer jaw today but I sure as hell will if ya throw another punch at me."

He snapped his head back and caught Bobby in the nose. There was a crunch and a yelp of pain and he used the fraction of a second to get out of the other hunter's grip. He spun around and pulled the magnum from the back of his waistband in one fluid motion. "I'm leaving and you're not stopping me."

* * *

><p>They'd been sitting on the porch in the cool evening air. John hadn't emerged from the house all day and she finally came down from her perch up the tree about an hour ago – thirsty, hungry and sore. Her backside was killing her, but it didn't compare to the pain in her ribs and kidneys. John had kicked the shit out of her, but she got even – if only a little bit. They were on the bench under the porch light. She was reading some more of Bobby's books and Marcus was cleaning an old bolt action rifle of Bobby's when the shouting started. It sounded like a normal enough argument the two frequently had, until it got dead silent and both of them perked their heads up. Quiet wasn't good.<p>

Marcus leapt up off the bench and peered in the front window. She couldn't move as fast and Marcus was already grabbing the rifle that he'd been cleaning, slid a shell into it, and wrenched open the door. When she came through behind him, she couldn't believe it when she saw John holding this revolver on Bobby.

"What the hell!" Marcus yelled, bringing up the rifle and leveling it on John's chest.

"Don't get involved, junior," John roared, not lowering his magnum a fraction.

"Put the gun down, John," Marcus said softly and she couldn't help but think of that movie _Full Metal Jacket_ when Leonard finally snapped because John had that same crazed look in his eyes. Something was really wrong here.

"Put the gun down, John," Bobby said pretty levelly for a guy with a magnum pointed at him from a few feet away. How on earth does one get blasé about something like that? How often do you have to have a gun in your face for you to not take it seriously? This was John Freakin Winchester on the other end of that thing!

"I'm leaving, and you're not stopping me," John backed up a step. Jenna could see his eyes were bloodshot and there was a swollen, dark bruise along his jaw. The room stank of spirits and there was no doubt John was loaded.

_Great,_ she thought, _just what we needed. A killing machine on a bender_.

Marcus side-stepped to give him room and Bobby drew up even with the tall black man and said, "Think about what yer doing, John. Yer not helping that kid."

Jenna had no clue what they were talking about and if John wanted to leave, she had no idea why Bobby wanted him to stay. She had no idea how they even put up with each other. And what kid were they talking about? She didn't harbor any delusions that the kid in question was her or Marcus. She didn't think John would get that wild-eyed over the pair of them. Did the hunter have kids of his own? That was a scary thought that there were more out there like John Winchester.

John backed up another step and suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her against his chest, pressing the magnum against her temple. The metal was cold and hard against the tender skin and she felt her eyes widen with fear. John hated her, John was drunk, and John had his gun to her head. _Oh crap_.

Bobby and Marcus both yelled at him, but John growled in her ear, "You're going to get yourself killed, or get Marcus killed if you keep this up. Can you live with that?"

Bobby snatched the rifle out of Marcus's hands and cocked it, sighting it at John's head. "Let 'er go." John used her for cover for the last couple steps back to the front door and he darted outside, leaving her behind for Marcus to wrap his arms around her. She was shaking, but not from having John use her as a human shield but from what he'd said – and how he'd said it. It sank in that time more than any other time because she could see it in Marcus's dark eyes that he was going to try and protect her, even if it meant getting hurt himself. The guilt from that ate and burned through her veins as she collapsed into his strong arms and started crying. She couldn't stop. There was the snarl of an engine starting and the spinning of gravel, followed by Rumsfeld's feverish barking.

"Shhh, Jenna. It's okay. You're okay." And she couldn't tell him that she wasn't crying out of fear for herself but fear for him. She had a blinding flash of clarity in that moment and she knew John was right. Marcus would die to protect her and she couldn't allow that to happen. Ever.

Bobby stuck his head out the door but there was nothing left of John other than a cloud of dust settling in the driveway and a growling echo of the GMC truck in the distance.

"Damn fool will be lucky if he don't wrap himself 'round a pole," the elder hunter cursed, slamming the door. "I'd call the cops and report him for drunk driving if I didn't think he'd put a bullet through the highway trooper for stopping 'im. You okay?"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"Sure. Y'look it." Bobby grabbed a fresh bottle of whiskey out of the bottom drawer of the desk and took a swig before handing the bottle over to her. "Take a pull off that. It'll help with the shaking."

She took a small sip and winced as the amber liquid burned its way down her throat. She'd had beer before but never any of the hard stuff. "How do you drink this shit?" she gasped. "It's like gasoline."

He took the bottle back from her and handed it to Marcus. The tall man shook his head and pushed it back at the hunter. He didn't seem to want to loosen his arms from around her for a second while she was still trembling. "You learn to acquire a taste for it," Bobby grunted, taking a healthy gulp for himself. "Now I'll ask you again… You okay?"

"I'm not hurt."

Bobby stared her full in the face. "I heard what he said to ya."

"You don't miss much, do you?" She swiped her arm under her running nose and sniffed miserably. A few minutes ago she'd been feeling pretty good about how she was finally starting to show she'd be able to make it in this life. Now she knew the horrible and ugly truth that John had been trying to beat into her but she'd been too dumb and too stubborn to listen.

"You don't get to my age in this lifestyle by missing what's goin on 'round you."

"He's right though." _God, he was right all along… I am so stupid to think I could do this_.

Bobby snorted in derision. "Anyone who hunts with anyone else runs the same risk. Hell, the marines built their motto around it – Semper Fi."

"But…"

"Look, kid. It's like this. You ain't much for fightin, and we all know that. But yer smart, you think quick, and you don't freeze up. Yer good with the weapons and yer a good shot. There are plenty out there that don't have that goin for 'em and they, by some miracle, are still huntin. There's one out there by the name a Garth. His daddy was a hunter and I promised to keep an eye out on the kid. He's a couple years older than you two but he's the dumbest sonofabitch this side of the Mississippi – and he's still workin the jobs and callin me to get him outta scrapes. Cuz that's what hunters do… we take care of each other."

She sniffed and wiped a hand under her eye. "Thanks, Bobby."

"It's not idle praise to make you feel better. It's the truth as I see it. Everyone gotta learn somehow, even I did. And I didn't take up too quick either."

"How did you start hunting?"

She regretted asking the moment she saw his eyes darken, but he cleared his throat and said, "I never told many people this… my wife got possessed by a demon. She came at me tryin to kill me and I stabbed her, but it didn't work. She just laughed and kept comin at me. Finally a black smoke shot outta her as this guy barged into my house. He was a hunter by the name a Rufus. He'd been trackin the demon but got there too late. Anyway, after the smoke shot outta her, my wife collapsed on the floor and died right there without the demon to keep her body alive. Rufus helped me clean up and handled everything, cooking up a story for the cops and I got off. I took up with him for a time – he taught me how to hunt. I could throw a good punch and fire a weapon, but the lore took time for me to master. Nearly got Rufus killed a time or two protectin me before we parted ways. That's just how it is in this world, Jenna. We look out for each other."

"But Marcus…" she started, but Marcus squeezed her shoulders.

"Jenna-girl, if you don't want to do this anymore, I understand. But I'm not walking away until that demon bastard's head is on a maypole."

"Do you really want me there beside you, putting you in danger?" she whispered, dreading every answer he could give her.

"I can't think of anyone I'd rather have beside me than you… If you're up for it."

She looked into that dark handsome face she'd loved since she was twelve and knew he meant it. "I'm not a good fighter."

"Not with your hands, but give a girl a weapon and look the fuck out," he grinned. "You had John seeing stars today."

Bobby grunted a laugh. "I gotta tell you, Kid, that I never saw someone get one over on John like that. You got a shade a crafty in you to be proud of."

They were trying to make her feel better, but it wasn't really working. She could still feel the cold metal barrel pressed into her temple and see the look in Marcus's eyes as she saw him make his decision to rescue her. She'd never be able to live with herself if Marcus died protecting her. So she decided right then and there that she would never be his damsel in distress. Never again. She'd prove John wrong and she'd make Bobby and Marcus proud of her. She'd get vengeance on the demon that killed her parents and Marcus's dad and brother. She'd put his damn head on a maypole and give it to Marcus as a damned birthday gift.

"Tell you what," Bobby mused while rubbing his beard. He could probably read every thought that crossed her face and knew what she decided to do with her life. "There's talk of a haunting a few towns over. Nothing serious so it might be a good one for you two to get yer feet wet on. I'll come along, but just to watch and make sure you don't get in over yer heads. You'll do the entire hunt on yer own and see how it is in the field. How's that sound?"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing… he was taking them on a hunt? Already? "You mean it? You think we're ready?"

"Can't see why not," he shrugged. We'll leave in the morning and go check it out."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Big thanks to Kripke for sharing his world with us.

Chapter 8

True to his word, Bobby took them to a small-town town hall about an hour and a half away, just over the state line. The town hall was haunted by a female ghost that had never hurt anyone, but had scared a number of people alone and working late. Although no one had ever been hurt by the ghost, all reported a malevolent and ominous presence when she appeared. Jenna posed as a sophomore writing an article for her school paper. It didn't hurt that she looked all of fifteen and her natural shyness and awkwardness actually worked for her in this case. The people she talked to treated her nicely enough and none of them seemed too hassled to answer her questions. Honestly, she didn't think the small town had enough to do to keep several civil servants occupied but she didn't voice that concern. Everyone she spoke to claimed that the ghost was one Maybelle Houghton, who killed herself by jumping off the top of the building clock tower in 1915. There was no reason stated in the newspaper articles about why she did it, but it was widely speculated that the young girl had gotten herself pregnant by someone and the cad denied having anything to do with her. Faced with a life of ridicule, she took her own life.

The story hit home with her because she had been adopted at six days old by her parents when her seventeen year old mother left her on the doorstep of a nursing home when she was only two days old. Her birth mother had been found overdosed on cocaine the following day and there hadn't been a father listed on her birth certificate. Her real grandparents hadn't wanted her, and her adopted parents tried to foster a relationship between their new daughter and her birth family, but they gave up when she was eight and cried every time she had to visit them. Her grandparents had been unbelievably cruel and actually blamed her outright for what happened to their daughter. She still reeled whenever she thought about the old woman screaming at her four year old self for the fate of her mother. She had to actually think about the last time she'd ever spared a thought for the old couple and realized it hadn't been for years. Her adoptive parents were the only real family she knew and had never considered them to be anything other than her real parents. It made her eyes water thinking about the zombies killing those good people in front of her and not being able to stop them but she masked it with a fake sneeze that hurt her bruised ribs. It hurt like hell but she didn't want the secretary she was speaking to to think she was crying over a chick that offed herself nearly ninety years earlier.

"It is tragic, isn't it?" the secretary, Colleen, simpered, offering her a tissue. "Imagine, even all that time ago and there were still the problems with un-wed mothers," the frizzy haired woman tsked. That shocked her a bit, considering a giant part of the population of the country was from unwed parents and Bible-Belt USA was still desperately trying to ignore it. She forced herself to swallow the smart-assed reply because she had a job to do and Marcus and Bobby were counting on her to get it done.

"Yes. Very tragic."

"Do you want to see a picture of her?" Colleen offered. She wheeled around in her chair and opened a filing cabinet drawer.

"You have a photo of her?" _Awesome_.

"They're just copies and they're a little grainy," she said as she rummaged. "The Houghton's were a pretty well-to-do family in the area. Her father was a lawyer, and her uncle was actually the mayor at the time she died. Both worked in this very building." She straightened and had a manila envelope in her hand. "Here it is," she smiled triumphantly as she slid the pages out of the envelope.

It was a typical photo for that time period as far as Jenna could tell. Black and white, severe clothes, high necks and long hemlines. There were several people in the photo, two blonde women and three dark-haired men.

"That's her," Colleen pointed out the younger woman in the picture. She was lovely with her long blonde curls and gentle features. A natural beauty. "…And that's her mother, her father and uncle." Colleen pointed to each in turn before putting the next photo on top. Maybelle was standing next to a young man with dark hair. "That's her brother, Brian. He was never the same after she died and he joined up in the war shortly after she died – got shot down over France six months later and sent home to his mother in a box."

"You seem to know a lot about them," Jenna remarked, turning the photo towards her some more. She leaned over to get a better look at the photo and grit her teeth against a wince as her ribs protested the movement. The girl certainly was pretty. Why would a man get her pregnant and not want her? Was he married already? Did he rape her? There were so many questions.

"They're distant relatives of mine. My Grandmother always spoke about them saying that Maybelle used to babysit her when she was a child. Besides, everyone in this town knows the stories."

"Can I get a copy of these?" she asked, holding up all four pictures, "…for my article?"

"Sure, Hun. Let me run those for you." Colleen fed the paper into the photocopier and the big machine whirred to life.

"Can you tell me where the family lived and where Maybelle was buried?"

"Well the family lived in the small mansion on Orchard Street. It's an assisted living home now. But why on earth would you want to know where she's buried?" Colleen looked at her with a furrowed brow and frowned.

She blushed unintentionally. She hadn't thought it would seem strange to ask and now she had no reasonable answer to give. She should've thought out her questions more thoroughly. "I was just thinking of getting a photo of the headstone to head my article. Y'know… have a picture of the thing and say this was the start of a nearly century long haunting and kinda work backwards in the story a bit. Have some of her background and the suspicions around her death, along with some stories from workers who've seen her or been wierded out by strange noises."

The secretary was still looking at her funny, but she stopped herself from rolling her eyes. "If you say so. Seems a little strange, but what do I know? I'm not the one dreaming of working for Time magazine." She winked at her as she pulled the grainy copies of the copied photos from the tray and tucked them into a file folder. "Here you go. And the old cemetery is on Lilac Avenue. You should find her there, I think. You know… the library has a bunch of old newspaper articles on microfilm. You could always check out down there for some more information if you're looking for other '_encounter_' stories. My aunt Myrtle runs the library and should be able to help you."

She didn't want to do the math at how old Aunt Myrtle was considering Colleen looked around sixty herself. "Great. I'll do that. And thanks a bunch, Colleen. I really appreciate your help."

"No problem, Hun. As you can tell," she lifted her arms to encompass the room, "there's not a lot going on around here."

Jenna let out a little laugh. "Regardless; thanks." Colleen saw her to the front door and she would've run the two blocks down to where Bobby and Marcus were waiting in a rusted out Nova if it weren't for the terrible pains in her ribs from where John had kicked her yesterday. On a hunt today was worlds away from sitting in a tree while a human bear paced at the bottom ready to tear her limb from limb.

"How'd you do, kid?" Bobby raised an eyebrow at her.

"Fine. I got loads of information and some photos too."

"Right on Jenna-girl," Marcus grinned as she piled into the backseat. "Knew you'd be good at this."

"The cemetery is on Lilac Avenue, she should be there."

Bobby pulled out the Triple A road atlas from the dash and scanned through it. "There it is. Not far – you kids want to check it out now?"

"Yeah, let's scope it out now so we're not there longer than we need to be tonight." Marcus was pretty charged now that they were on an actual hunt. Granted, it was a rookie salt and burn as Bobby called it, but hell… they were rookies.

They swung by the cemetery and she and Marcus got out to search the graveyard for Maybelle's bones. It was a big place, but it seamed that the older sections were in the east end of it, so they concentrated their search there. Eventually, Marcus called out, "Found her."

She hurried over and looked at the well kept stone and grass. A shudder ran through her at the thought of digging the poor girl up and lighting her remains on fire, but she had to suck it up. A big part of being a hunter was lighting up remains and it was a dirty, horrible, essential part of the gig.

"We'll come back tonight when it's dark," Bobby grunted, pulling his ball hat off his head and wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "This grave is old and settled. It'll be a bitch digging up. Good thing we got two young backs to do the heavy lifting." He clapped Marcus on the shoulder and gave him a snide grin.

"You mean you're not going to help us?" he complained.

"Hey, I told you kids that this was yer hunt. I'm justa chaperone."

Marcus grinned, white teeth flashing against his skin. "Does the chaperone feed us? Digging is hungry work."

"Come on… let's get outta here. There's a greasy spoon joint back by the town hall that looked promising."

* * *

><p>It was a dark night. The moon was in its first quarter and the little light to be had was swallowed up by the clouds. It was good that it was so dark, no one could see the trio in the back of the old cemetery digging up a poor dead girl's bones. She paused to wipe her forehead. They were almost to the bottom. Bobby told them that they were getting close by the way that the ground was echoing with each shovelful. They'd been digging for a few hours. She had no idea how people did this all the time. This was the first grave she'd ever dug up and she had no idea how she'd ever do this again. She glanced at Marcus tossing dirt over his shoulder and out of the hole with grim determination. <em>That's how…<em> she thought to herself and went back to her digging. _I am not a damsel in distress... I am not a damsel in distress…_ It had become her mantra shortly after the first blister formed and popped on her palm. Her ribs were killing her anyway, but now she could add the pain in her hands, shoulders and back along with it. _I am not a damsel in distress… I can do this…_

She heard Marcus's shovel hit wood and the two of them started frantically clearing the dirt from the top of the casket. After they cleared the end of it, Bobby handed down the pickaxe he'd brought. She scrambled out of the hole with a hand from Bobby to give Marcus the room to swing the pickaxe down on the rotting wood. The first hit echoed clear as a gunshot and a long crack split the top of the coffin. The second hit broke through and he had to wrestle the blade free of the wood. The third widened the hole and he started tearing up strips of the wood with the pickaxe blade.

She almost threw up when he had the hole big enough to see the skeleton inside. The skull was pillowed on aged white satin, blonde curls dried and dead and trying to flee what little remained of the mummified flesh. Teeth yellowed with age and rot grinned up at her in a macabre fashion. And the smell... Something dead this long and entombed in a box made for one of the most nauseating stenches she could ever have imagined. Death and decay and dust and neglect. It reached for her and choked her and she had to swallow back the bile that threatened to rise because she'd be damned if she was gonna ralph in front of Bobby. The vet hunter was watching her closely so she schooled her features to make herself look calm and composed.

_I am __**not**__ a damsel in distress_.

Marcus didn't seem bothered about putting up a brave show because he covered his nose with his elbow and made a face. "Damn! Ain't that the nastiest thing you ever smelled?"

"It don't get easier with age neither," Bobby groused. "Here. Torch her and be done with it." He tossed down a can of salt and lighter fluid and Marcus drenched what he could with the pungent liquid that did nothing to mask the scent of death wafting up from the casket.

Marcus tossed up the cans, scrambled out of the hole, and dusted the dirt off his jeans with his hands. He pulled a booklet of matches out of his pocket and handed them to her. "Ladies first."

_Great_, she thought. But she took a deep breath, ignoring the stench, and struck the match. She tilted the book this way and that so that other matches would light and when they all took to flame, she dropped the book of matches down the hole. A fraction of a second later, a soft whoomp sounded and the flames caught the accelerant and the hole filled with fire and a feeling of sadness filled her that this is what became of this poor girl.

"Holy shit, it's her." Marcus nudged her arm and pointed a dozen headstones over. Maybelle was staring at them with the saddest look on her lovely face.

"This ain't right," Bobby grunted, picking up the shotgun and absently passing her the can of salt. "She should be dissolving in flame, not staring at us."

"What do you mean?" she whispered, unable to take her eyes off the softly illuminated apparition. _She looks so sad…_ She knew she should be salting a circle around the three of them but she couldn't take her eyes off the ghost. Maybelle's misery called to her in an almost primitive fashion. Like it was a live creature at the bottom of her gut, clawing and begging and screaming within her.

"Ghosts usually try to protect their bones when they're in danger of being burned. She's not doing anything and her bones are going up in flame right in front of her."

"So how come she's not fighting back?" Marcus asked, unable to take his eyes off the slender girl either.

"I don't know. But she shouldn't be standing there. She should be destroyed by now. There must be something else keeping her here. Some remains of some sort or some object she'd tied to. We have to find it to finish the job."

"But that could be anything," Marcus protested.

"She looks so sad," she whispered, wanting to step closer to the ghost but Marcus grabbed her arm and held her back. "Like she wants to pass on but can't."

Bobby shook his head. "That might be the case. It's certainly not unheard of but pretty uncommon none the less."

"How do we find what's keeping her here?" she asked. The thing in her gut reached for the dead girl, and Maybelle looked her square in the eyes as if knowing what turmoil she was going through.

"It could be anything."

The ghost reached a hand out towards them, a pleading look crossing her lovely and sad face. "She needs help!" Jenna hissed at the men next to her as the thing in her gut reached back – like it was her living soul wanting to comfort the dead one a dozen paces away. "How do we help you?" she called across the manicured grass. Couldn't the boys feel how sad she was? She was drowning in the poor girl's misery herself… how could Bobby and Marcus not feel it?

Maybelle said nothing, just held her hand out to them before placing her other hand at the base of her throat and disappearing. "Come back!" she cried out. She needed to help this girl. She needed to help her move on and leave whatever torment was keeping her here. She could feel Maybelle's desperate sadness filling her heart and she just wanted to sit down and weep for the girl as the feeling in her gut curdled and died within her.

"Bobby, we have to find a way to finish this," she whispered brokenly. "I don't care how long it takes."

"Well that's the hunter's spirit, Jenna, but damn if I know what to start looking for." Bobby took his battered cap off his head and wiped his forehead. "I ain't never seen a ghost do that before. They always fight back."

She was filled with a resolve she was becoming accustomed to. She first felt it when she vowed to herself to go after the demon that killed her parents. She felt it now thinking of the dead girl whose bones were burning at her feet right now. She could not leave this business unfinished.

"We have to rebury her," she stated, picking up her shovel despite her protesting blisters, back and ribs. "Then we head back to the motel and start from scratch."


End file.
